


Parallel Opposition

by CampySpaceSlime



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Multiple Dimensions, Slow Burn, Some Fluff, Some angst, Some influences from Dune which is a very interesting series, fun alien genitalia, lots of references to the original series, these idiots are so in love and in space so like all the good good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 13:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampySpaceSlime/pseuds/CampySpaceSlime
Summary: A transporter accident propels James Kirk and Montgomery Scott into a parallel universe where the Enterprise is nothing but a wreck on the sands of Vulcan and the people who are her crew in the proper universe are now scavengers on the planet's surface. And just what does a Vulcan nobleman have to do with all this?When Spock finds his captain replaced with a brash thief that possesses a firm hatred of all things Vulcan, he's forced to come face to face with his feelings for the proper Jim Kirk. And desperately try to get him back.





	1. I’wak mesulch yut t’on

It happened in an instant. First, he was in the sterile, antiseptic transporter room of the _Enterprise_ and then he was somewhere else entirely. Some energy had disrupted his travel, botching the beam up and twisted the particles of his being away from their proper course. He was smashed back together into the clay of flesh far from the simplicity he knew.

            The transporter pad he appeared on was gritty with sand and granules displaced themselves around his boots. The breath wheezed out of his lungs as he suddenly found the air thin and choking and hot. Atmospheric pressure bit into his skull, squeezing his temples as a steady throb of dizziness overwhelmed him. He tripped, staggering off the pad ensconced in a gravity shelf, his body trying to find equilibrium in the higher gravity pull.

            He heard a crack of knee against metal and a grunt to his side and saw Scotty, on his own pad, kneeling and clutching his head. He wasn’t dressed in his usual engineering uniform. It had been replaced by some sort of suit that clung close to his body like a slick skin. It appeared to be something like a wet suit, but with ports and tubes and sacks hanging from it, and small glowtubes, half of which appeared to be broken, sewn in along the seams.

            “Where are we, Cap’n?” Scotty asked, his typical brogue tainted by pain.

            “I don’t know, Scotty,” Kirk replied. He stepped forward gingerly, testing out his rubbery legs. He was wearing a suit identical to Scotty’s and could feel it slicking away his sweat, swallowing it up. The air was still and hot. There didn’t seem to be enough of it to get a decent breath.

            They were definitely still on the _Enterprise;_ the transporter room was easily recognizable. But it wasn’t the right one. The controls were gutted and half buried in sand. Most of the pads were missing. Streaks of grit colored the walls and the door to the corridor was wedged open, busted off its track. The only light came from the emergency glowtubes that lined the juncture between wall and ceiling. They were designed to run on the barest amount of energy and would glow even if the all power in the ship was off. The telltale, comforting hum of the engines was missing, so it appeared the ship was stationary. As far as Kirk could tell, it was probably on some sort of sandy planet, dovetailed into some dune somewhere.

            Kirk reached over and helped Scotty to his feet. He then patted all over his suit, finding nothing but a tiny, type 1 phaser crusted with dirt and well used. Scotty produced a matching weapon, along with a pair of laser pliers and a cutter.

            “Put your phaser on stun,” Kirk advised. He wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “Do you think we’ve gone to the Mirror Universe?”

            “I sure hope not, sir,” Scotty offered with a shrug. “And there was no ion storm this time.”

            “Spock registered some sort of anomaly…”

            “Aye. But if ye remember, we didn’t really have time for Mr. Spock to run his tests. We were about to be brained by some less than happy aliens, as I recall.”

            “I know Scotty. But I think I’d rather face them than whatever this is. I don’t like the way it looks.”

            “Aye. The _Enterprise_ has seen some better days.” He sighed with evident longing for the polished, purring lady he was used to.

            A loud, metallic bang brought both men whirling, phasers at the ready. Someone shoved open the busted door further, poking his head in. He wore the same kind of suit Scotty and Kirk were in, but his hood was up, covering everything but a pair of pale blue eyes.

            “What are you crazy bastards doing?” said an all too familiar voice. “You going to shoot me? I’m a doctor not a target.”

            “Bones?” Kirk asked as both he and Scotty lowered their phasers.

            “Who else would it be?” Bones growled. He pushed hard against the door and it made a grinding shriek, falling completely off its track and clanging to the floor. “Why have you got your hoods off? Do you enjoy wasting moisture?” Scotty looked over at Kirk with a raised eyebrow.  The lecture Bones seemed to be gearing up to give spurred them both into pocketing their phasers and unfolding the hoods from their suits. The hoods instantly adhered to their skin and caught the dew of their breath as well as the droplets of their sweat.

            “You guys look like a pair of googley-eyed Ferengi that just saw their first Orion slave girl,” Bones continued. He gestured toward the corridor. “Well come on then. Unless you enjoy the idea of being buried under a few metric tons of sand.” He disappeared in a movement more nimble than any Kirk had ever seen him make.

            “What should we do, Cap’n?” Scotty whispered. Bones was right; with only his eyes visible, Scotty did look young, frightened, and unsure. “Should we follow ‘m?”

            “I don’t see how we have much of a choice,” Kirk replied, striding forward with more confidence than he supposed he really had. “He didn’t try to kill us or hurt us in any way, so I’d say that this might be better than the last alternate universe we went into.”

            The corridor was dark when they stepped out into it. Most of the glowtubes that lined the hallway were broken or missing, along with the doors to other rooms. The floor was thick with a sea of sand, tiny granules shifting with the slightest of movements.

            McCoy was picking his way across an expanse of it, a bag stuffed so full that the seams strained bouncing along on his back, and his hands full with a couple plastic totes marked with the Federation seal. He glanced behind him at the other men.

            “Grab a couple boxes,” he yelled over his shoulder at them. “We’ve hit the jackpot, my friends.”

            Sure enough, there were stacks of the black totes piled high against one of the walls. Shrugging, Kirk grabbed as many as he could carry and less gracefully followed after Bones. He heard Scotty, breathing shallow with effort, close behind him.

            “What do you think are in these?” Kirk asked.

            “Could be anything,” Scotty said. “Foodstuffs, medical supplies, weapons. But Cap’n, I think… I think we’re pilfering from the _Enterprise._ I don’t think any of this is ours.”

            “Yea, I know,” Kirk agreed. He crested a dune of sand that brought him close enough to the ceiling that he had to crouch, his back offering a twinge of protest. But the sight before him stopped him in his tracks.

            A good portion of the _Enterprise_ was gone. The hull was scorched and broken open like an egg shell. Fierce sunlight pierced Kirk’s eyes as, rather than the deck of the ship, he saw a wide expanse of desert, littered with bits of debris close at hand while far off, there were rock formations. One sun was high in the sky and another was slipping toward the horizon while a third stood sentinel in the east.

            “Vulcan,” he breathed, recognizing the view. He had only been to the planet once before and that trip hadn’t exactly been a pleasure cruise. He’d had to fight his own First Officer here.

            That felt like a lifetime ago. Just one in a line of sour missions. This one had simply managed to cement Spock’s trust in him. And that smile: wide, unabashed, uncontrolled. The complete spontaneity of pleasure upon seeing Kirk alive… it had penetrated deep into the captain’s bones. He savored the memory, despite the pain and fear that had led up to that moment. All was made right again through that simple expression of the face. The universe made sense again because of a twist of facial muscles.

            Scotty joined Kirk on the top of the sand ridge and inhaled sharply. “The _Enterprise,_ sir,” he said softly, reverently, as he surveyed the damage, “she must have been blown out of the sky.”

            Jim nodded, hardly believing it. Despite numerous brushes with destruction, there was still a part of him that firmly believed his ship was indestructible. It could be broken and battered, but never split open and left to rust.

            A short distance across the open desert, Bones was piling his finds on a trailer welded to the back of a hovercycle. The bike was a conglomeration of parts from a myriad places, all the paint different colors so it looked like a metallic patchwork quilt. It looked rough and barely put together, and if it could genuinely run, well, that would be a surprise.

            “Come on!” Bones yelled over to them. “What are you gawking about?” He made a rude gesture that spurred the other two men into action.

            They trudged down the sand embankment created by the _Enterprise_ ’s crash landing. Scotty pulled ahead and soon reached McCoy, helping him load up the totes and leather sacks the doctor had gathered onto the trailer.

            Still far from the bike, Kirk stopped and turned around to take stock of the ship. He watched as it slowly, inch by inch, slipped into the sand, infinitesimally swallowed up by the dunes. His home, the source of his understanding of family, all of it was tied up in that ship. The thing was now a shell without any of its soul left to it. He felt a deep sense of mourning begin to creep up on him. He knew intrinsically that this was not his reality. In his universe, the _Enterprise_ was fine. It was all in one piece and full of the people he loved. But knowing that didn’t stop him from feeling for this wreckage before him. When the ship sank more steadily, he felt its loss like it had been physically attached to him.

            And damn, how were they going to get back? They needed a transporter room. They needed one specific transporter room, the one currently filling with sand. Without it, they were trapped here. Unless those on the other side could figure it out. Kirk had unwavering faith in Spock, but he knew they also needed a brain like Scotty’s to help figure out a problem like this one.

            Kirk was knocked savagely out of his musings when something heavy slammed into his back. He heard a faint crack and pain raced along his nerve cells as he tumbled face first into the grit, banging his forehead on one of the totes he was carrying.

            He groaned, but managed to roll over onto his back, knees bent, ready to kick and claw and punch and fight with whatever was necessary. But what he saw when he looked up stopped him cold.     

               Standing menacingly over him was Spock. But he was almost unrecognizable. There was the same aquiline nose, mahogany eyes, and thin, taunt body. But his eyes were on fire with aggression and his stance, gripping a Vulcan _lirpa_ tightly, betrayed a creature forged in emotion. This was not the stiff, controlled man Kirk was used to. He resembled the way he looked in the throes of the blood fever. But there was more off with him than just the burning look of emotion about him.

            He was naked to the waist and his chest was hairless. Instead of the usual carpet of black hair, it was crisscrossed with dark, tribal tattoos. Words in Vulcan script flowed over his pectorals, expanding up his neck. Each of his wrists held a different glyph on their undersides. And his hair was not the tame bowl cut Kirk always equated with Spock. It was wild, free form, flopping over his forehead, coiling over his high arching brows instead of lying in the uniform picket fence of his bangs.

            “Spock?” Kirk gasped. There was the familiar eyebrow lift of confusion. But then Spock crumpled, falling limp to his knees. Over the Vulcan’s shoulder, Kirk saw Scotty standing, his phaser extended before him. The blast he had hit Spock with had been a high stun.

            “Hot damn!” McCoy’s voice echoed in the sudden quiet after the trilling of the phaser beam. He hooted and scampered over, clapping Scotty on the back as he passed him. Kirk had just gotten to his feet and heaved Spock into a sitting position so he wouldn’t choke on his own saliva or the desert sands when Bones barreled into him. “Jimbo, you are the best lucky charm in existence! What the hell is a hobgoblin doing all the way out here anyway? And you lured him right on out. Whoa doggie. And look at those ears!” He crouched and pulled on one of the body parts in question. “Well bred. Probably got some noble blood in him, if you can call that green sludge of theirs blood. And he’s well-watered. You’re gonna make us rich, pointy.” The last sentence was directed at Spock’s prone form as Bones patted his cheek, smiling wide.

            Kirk balked in confusion. It was still jarring to have been that close to being speared by his Commander. And the way he looked here, in this strange universe, was so odd. More so than how he’d looked in the Mirrorverse. He’d still been stiff and controlled there. Cruel and cold as well, and, of course, the beard was unexpected. But there was something even more surprising here. Spock had looked absolutely wild as he stood over Kirk. He’d moved like a sleek and feral beast. There was no tight rein on his psyche. He had been left uncivilized. And that had done more to knock the air out of Kirk’s lungs than the blow of the _lirpa_ ’s bludgeon to his back or the shock of the thinner atmosphere.  

            Without any warning, McCoy lowered his hood and stuck two fingers into his mouth, whistling loudly. Something a ways away made a sound Jim could only describe as a mix between a canine growl and a goat bleat. Complete silence followed the noise, but McCoy stood, expectantly watching, his hand making a visor to shield his eyes from the suns.

            Confusion seemed to be Jim’s constant state here. He watched McCoy and his mind worked furiously, but he hadn’t recognized the animal sound. And what warranted Bones’ excitement over Spock? Kirk looked down at the Vulcan. He was slumped ungracefully, his head lolling to one side. Kirk noticed a tiny tattoo behind one of his ears. He could never imagine the Spock he knew with one tattoo, let along the innumerable ones this Spock had.

            When Bones started whooping with excitement, Kirk snapped back to attention. A large creature was lumbering toward them. Its fur, a rusty brown, blended in with the landscape around it. It had the shape and the face structure of a bear except for the pair of long, tusk-like fangs that protruded from its mouth. It moved completely silently, bred for stealth in the desert.

            A sehlat.

            Kirk had watched a vid once on the fauna of Vulcan. He’d wanted to impress Spock with some esoteric knowledge. Now he was rather glad he’d been so vain.

            This sehlat, however, didn’t seem much like the ones in the vid. As it got closer, Kirk could see that its eyes were quite blank and dopey. It had a stupid sort of expression on its face, looking like little more than a furry, carnivorous cow. There was an elaborate saddle overlaid with Vulcan glyphs on its back, so “horse” might be a more astute comparison. But Kirk had never seen a horse with such a vacant expression. Sehlats were supposedly highly intelligent. In this universe, this statement was thrown into doubt.

            The sehlat stopped a few feet from McCoy and gave its growl/bleat. Bones dug in the pockets of his suit and pulled out some sort of pellet. He tossed it and the sehlat’s long tongue shot out of its mouth and caught it. Crunching the pellet, the creature bleated happily.

            McCoy moved closer and began to inspect it, patting its flanks, and digging around in its saddle bags. Scotty sidled up beside Kirk, his expression just as confused as Kirk supposed his own was.

            “Well,” Bones said, finishing his survey and smiling broadly. He had procured a couple coin purses that had been hidden in the saddle and tucked them away in his suit. “We’ve definitely got ourselves a nobleman. That hobgoblin is rich. And he has quite a nice sehlat.” He petted the creature in question on the snout, encouraging a contented purr out of it. “I think we’ll keep the beastie. But, of course, I defer to your good judgment, Jim.” His tone of voice implied that he rarely considered Jim’s judgment “good.”

            “Uh, sure,” Kirk said dismissively. He thought fast. “If you think we can feed him.”

            “Kid, with the cash we’ll get from the elf here, we could feed a hundred guys like this,” McCoy answered. He patted the sehlat once more and it nuzzled against him, seeking out another pellet. “Anyway,” McCoy went on, obliging the creature and offering it another snack, “I think we should give our cashcow his medicine.” He looked expectantly at Jim.

            “Uh, sure,” he found himself saying again. He glanced quickly at Scotty, but the engineer appeared to be just as lost. This whole situation was down to Kirk’s intuition. If there was an intelligent decision, he didn’t know what it was. He had no idea if he could trust this Bones and the Spock of this universe had attacked him, so he couldn’t rely on him either. What Jim really needed was some time alone with Scotty so they could try and figure out how to get back. What had even caused the transporter to malfunction? It was times like these he wished he listened to Spock when he was rambling off his scientific data. But it hadn’t seemed so important at the time.

            “Ok…” Bones prompted. He was still staring at Kirk. “Could you maybe shackle him please? I’d rather not be viciously murdered today if I can help it.” He paused. “What the hell is wrong with you two anyway? Were there some drugs on that ship or something? You’re quiet and have been following me around like a couple of lost tribbles ever since we got out of there. Where’s your insufferable commanding presence, ‘Captain’ Kirk?”

            _It’s hard to think and calculate and be confident all at the same time,_ Kirk thought ruefully.

            “I’m just tired, Bones,” he said aloud. He then dug around in the pockets of his suit until he found what Bones had been talking about. He was carrying a couple pairs of restraints that he had somehow missed finding in his first, quick, and less than thorough suit inspection. He crouched and cuffed Spock’s wrists and ankles, the energy field creating sparks as it connected, reinforcing the metal of the cuff’s center and also creating a barrier that would offer a rather unkind shock if fought against.

            “I didn’t think it was possible for you to get tired,” Bones grumbled. He swung his medical kit around and dug a hypospray out of it. He then joined Kirk in a crouch.

            “What are ye givin’ him?” Scotty asked, keeping his distance from the curious sehlat that had turned its attention to him.

            “Tarlexian,” McCoy replied. Without a pause, he reared back with his free hand and slapped Spock hard enough that his head snapped to the side. Kirk startled, opening his mouth to say some sort of protest, when McCoy did it again. This time, a groan rumbled up out of Spock’s throat and his eyes flashed open.

            He yelled something in Vulcan, glaring at all three men in one sweeping motion. “You filthy rabble,” he spat, switching to Standard. “I will rip open your bowels and feast on your entrails. I will crush your skulls until your brains spew from your ears and eye sockets. I will rip open your throats and bathe in the fountains of your blood. You disgusting, reeking humans. I will rip you apart.”

            “Holy mother of heaven,” Scotty breathed. Kirk reeled back, but remained silent. _Pon farr_ was nothing compared to this. Spock looked completely capable of everything he was saying. Color had risen in his pale cheeks, so his expression was tinged green. His teeth flashed with every word he said and his eyes… They were truly horrendous. They were nothing more than deep, black pits.

            “You’re a polite one, ain’t cha?” McCoy chirruped. “I almost don’t feel bad about this now you started talking and all. But this shot here, it’s gonna hurt. A lot. Enjoy.” He stabbed Spock in the side of the neck with the hypo.

            “You sicken me, repulsive human swine,” Spock continued. “I will tear your heads from your necks and –ˮ

            Whatever he was going to say next dissolved into a wet choke. His face twisted in on itself and the most inhuman, sickening scream wrenched itself from his throat. He fell forward into the sand, trying to clutch his head with his manacled hands.

            “What the hell, Bones?” Kirk exclaimed as Spock writhed, keening piteously. “What did you give him?”

            “I told you: Tarlexian,” McCoy replied. His blue eyes lifted from the spectacle Spock was making to look at Kirk and his tortured, sympathetic expression. “It’ll be over soon… I think. And it will mellow him out a little bit. At least for a while. So maybe he’ll stop graphically describing how he’s going to mutilate and kill us.”

            Spock screamed again and curled up, coughing on the sand.

            “What is it doing to him?” Kirk whispered. He was, quite frankly, horrified. He had seen Spock face amounts of pain that would leave a man insane and crippled for life, without batting an eyelash. Kirk had never seen so pure agony in his life.

            “I’m breaking his bond,” McCoy explained. “A good-looking fella like him, I figured he had to be married by now. And we don’t want him calling the wifey on us. He’s a pushover compared with whatever that Vulcan she-beast would bring. So we gotta break the bond. Simple as that.”

            Slowly, breathing hard, Spock uncoiled from himself. His face was still flushed and his hands were shaking. His inner eyelids had closed over his eyes so he looked milky, blind, and halfway demonic. His outer lids soon closed as well and his body went slack, until he slumped over unconscious once more.

            “Smart guy,” McCoy said, clapping him on the back. “Went right into a healing trance. Hopefully, his she-Vulcan is doing the same.” He rose fluidly to his feel, slapping his thighs until sand fell off of him in little clouds. “Alrighty. I think it’s time we got out of here.”

            Kirk could not agree more.


	2. The present is the crossroads of both (past and future)

As soon as he appeared on the transporter pad, Jim Kirk whirled around with an accusatory finger aimed at Scotty.

“I told you,” Kirk began heatedly, “I told you: ‘don’t touch that. We’re on a complicated ship and you’re just an engineering hack.’ Then what do you do? You touch it. I swear I’ll – Wait. What are you wearing?”

Scotty wasn’t dressed in the typical skintight desert suit. Instead, he wore a baggy red shirt with some strange, triangular symbol on the breast. Besides for that he looked the same: ruddy features, missing finger, stocky build. He was frowning, evidently lost in thought.

Kirk moved his attention to their surroundings. The room they were in was the same size and shape as the transporter room they’d discovered in the abandoned starship. But it was far from abandoned now. Lights were blinking and the place was spotless. None of the ubiquitous Vulcan sand had flowed over the floor. And then, of course, one could not ignore the fact that there were people here. A couple of men stood behind the control panel, gaping wide-eyed at Kirk and Scotty.

Deftly, Kirk leapt off the pad, adjusting smoothly to a different touch of gravity. He offered his sparkling, winning smile. “The fuck is going on here?” he said sweetly, addressing the two, in outfits that mirrored Scotty’s.

The door to the corridor opened with a hiss and in strode a man Kirk would recognize anywhere. Though he was wearing a strange uniform as well.

“Bones!” Kirk laughed. “You asshole! What’s this prank, eh? Those outfits are something else. Ugly as sin, mind you. And you got all these fellers to play along with you. You’re a bad man, but talented. You almost had me going there.” He started to laugh in earnest.

McCoy glanced over at the two ensigns, but they shrugged, still looking like a couple of startled deer. He turned back to Kirk who was beginning to sober, but still beaming. Scotty moved forward and stood at his shoulder, eyes a little more focused and shrewd. The sudden cruelty in his gaze was alarming. And though he looked much the same, Jim’s voice was off. There was a distinct rural Iowa twang to it, as though he had never had it worked out of him through the Academy.

“Jim,” McCoy started tentatively, “where do you think you are?”

“Now really Bones,” Kirk said on a groan, “your jokes are terrible. Everybody knows it.” He sighed. “But fine. I’ll bite. Ok. What do you want to know?” His smile was rueful; he obviously thought he was humoring an asinine situation. “We’re on Vulcan in the star system whatever on an abandoned Federation vessel, stealing anything salvageable those fuckers left. And hopefully we’re done here soon.” He smiled and one could taste the egotism rolling off him.

In response to this, one of the ensigns simply squeaked, “Vulcan? I’m pretty sure we’re closer to Andromeda than we are to Vulcan…”

“Shut up,” the other hissed at him, ears tinged pink.

_They really are quite young,_ Bones thought. _Fresh out of the Academy. This is probably their first shift at the transporter and they’ve botched it royally._ He looked over at Kirk, who was gazing at him with that seductive grin. His eyes conveyed more of a “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m going to work my charisma to my favor” vibe.

_I’m too old for this shit. Should just go back to Georgia._

Sighing, McCoy walked over to the communications box on the wall. Even with his back turned to him, he felt Kirk watching his every move curiously. It was rather unnerving, but he managed to ignore it, hailing the bridge.

“Spock here,” came the tinny reply.

“Hey there, Spock,” McCoy said in a sarcastically cheery voice. “We’ve got us a problem down in the transporter room. I’m pretty sure the captain is not the captain and Scotty doesn’t seem quite right either. I would suggest you beat it on down here, if you would be so kind.”

“On my way. Spock out.”

“What’s that?” Kirk asked and McCoy jumped, finding him right behind him. He was so close the warmth of his breath breezed over the back of McCoy’s neck, causing the tiny hairs to stand up on end. Jim reached around him to point at the red box. “And who’s Spock?”

“I am.”

_Damn, that hobgoblin is fast when he wants to be,_ Bones thought. He looked over at the doorway and sure enough, there stood Spock, looking just as prim and proper as usual.

Though he must not have looked innocuous because his appearance caused both Kirk and Scotty to pull out their phasers and drop into fighting crouches. The guns were pointed at Spock’s chest and Bones wasn’t sure whether they were set to stun or kill.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he said, holding up his hands and stepping forward to half-shield Spock. He cursed himself for not thinking to check them for weapons. But at the time they’d seemed annoying but not all that dangerous. Now they looked completely deadly.

“What the fuck, Bones?” Kirk growled, harshness turning his eyes into fiery diamonds. He stroked the trigger of his phaser with a finger. The ensigns had pulled their own phasers, but seemed to be doing their best impressions of scared puppies. “You brought a Vulcan?”

“I am –ˮ Spock started, also holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“I wasn’t talking to you, pointy.” Kirk’s voice was pure venom. Scotty stepped up beside him, his gaze never wavering from Spock. “So keep your cock-sucking mouth shut, capeche?” He turned back to McCoy. “As I was saying: what the absolute motherfucking fuck Bones? What the hell is going on here? This isn’t a joke, eh? This isn’t a prank? Where the hell are we?”

“Um,” McCoy stammered, for once at a loss for words. He had never heard Kirk insult Spock before and even if this wasn’t the right Jim, he still looked an awful lot like him. And what could he say that wouldn’t end in phaser fire? He glanced back at Spock, whose brow was furrowed ever so slightly, calculating.

“Um,” McCoy said again. “Well, you’re on the _U.S.S Enterprise_ out in unexplored space. This is a vessel of Starfleet, acting on behalf of the United Federation of Planets. And Spock here happens to be the First Officer of this ship."

Scotty chuckled unkindly.

“You’re shitting me,” Kirk said, smiling nastily. “There is no ‘United’ Federation. Just a corrupt bunch of bureaucrats trailing after First Citizen Nogura, kissing the ground he walks on. You do your time in the army and you pay your taxes and the Federation couldn’t give a Gorn’s ass about you.”  

“It appears that there has –ˮ Spock started.

Kirk fired his phaser a hair’s breadth to Spock’s side, blasting the doorway. One of the ensigns yelped and was about to shoot when Scotty fired on both of them, so they dropped to the floor. Startled, Bones rushed forward, checking their pulses. They were faint, but there.

“I told you not to talk,” Kirk hissed. He strode forward until he stood before Spock, glaring up at him. The Vulcan didn’t move a muscle, but simply gazed down at him. His calm expression seemed a direct contrast to the weapon pointed at him. “And that wasn’t very nice, Scotty,” Jim tossed over his shoulder, before he turned back to looking over Spock. He was silent for a long time.

“This is probably the closest I’ve been to a live and awake Vulcan that I wasn’t currently trying to kill,” he said finally. “The ones we captured Bones always took care of. There’s an Orion trader he knows. Really had a soft spot for you guys. Thinks you make good pets. I heard he likes your ears. Has a collection of them in jars or something, sick fuck.” He stalked forward a couple more paces, frowning. “A First Officer of a starship? And you’re so stoic. It’s weird.”

The trill of phaser fire reverberated around the room. There was a loud, metallic crash as Scotty fell to the floor, a surprised expression frozen on his face. Kirk whirled around, seeing McCoy still beside the ensigns, kneeling behind the transporter console, one of their phasers in his hands. Before Jim could do anything, he felt a strong hand on the juncture of his neck and shoulder and promptly fell unconscious, slipping slowly to the floor.

Bones straightened up and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I think you can see we’ve got ourselves a predicament,” he said. “Who doesn’t appear to like you one bit.”

“I believe that constitutes an understatement, doctor,” Spock replied wryly. “It seems that they come from a universe of poor taste.”

“I’m pretty sure hubris counts as an emotion, Spock,” McCoy grumbled good-naturedly. “Anyway, we better get these ensigns to sickbay. And start figuring out a way to get the right Jim and Scotty back. These two give me the heebie jeebies.”

“Heebie…?”

            “Nothing. Can we just get going please? Before they wake up?”

“Indeed.”


	3. Nar-tor pulaya s’au k’ka’es –k’el’rular tun-bosh

Kirk grunted as he and Scotty lowered the unconscious Spock onto a hard-backed couch. He was heavier than he looked, as both men found out when they’d first helped Bones load him onto the hovercycle and then when they had dragged him off, carrying him to where they were now, deep in the bowels of some cave system turned home.

Bones had led the way from the wreck of the _Enterprise_ driving the hovercycle, while Kirk and Scotty had ridden the sehlat, following silently behind. Bones brought them across the mostly flat desert to an oasis of stone with thin stalagmites reaching high into the sky. There was an entrance, cleverly concealed in the rock face that Bones led them to.

Inside that, down deep in the rock through a system of roughhewn tunnels, they came to a metal door, sealed to keep moisture inside. McCoy had parked the hovercycle beside it, activating the cycle’s camouflage system until it shimmered and then blended seamlessly with the surroundings. He had then tied the sehlat’s lead to a post of rock before opening the door with a command code.

They’d dragged Spock inside and soon realized that they were in a dimly lit dwelling of some kind. There was the same sort of emergency glowtube lights from starships lining the tops of the walls, most likely stolen from other ships as unfortunate as the _Enterprise._ These provided the only illumination. From the doorway they had stepped into some sort of central hub, with tunnels leading off of it in almost every direction. Though it seemed labyrinthine, the haphazard, unmatching furniture in the room and a greasy collection of knick knacks gave it an overall homey feel. The place was definitely lived in.

“Alright fearless leader,” Bones had said after they walked in, crossing his arms over his chest. Kirk and Scotty had still been struggling to keep a hold of the heavy, boneless form of Spock. McCoy stared at Jim unabashedly. “Whose responsibility should the hobgoblin be before we take him to Antrok? I’m thinking that Sulu hasn’t had any unpleasant duties for a while…”

Kirk feigned thinking. The choice was obvious. Even if he didn’t know what Antrok was, or where, or even what “responsibility” entailed.

“I’ll do it,” he’d said calmly, in a way that brokered no reproach. McCoy gaped then, as though Kirk had said something completely insane. Jim felt Scotty stiffen beside him, obviously tense that the jig was up. They were unsure if they could trust Bones with the information that they’d come from another dimension or if he’d even believe them if they did.

When McCoy had finally spoken again, he did so very cautiously. He looked worried that he would set something off in Kirk.

“Jim,” he began, sparing a moment to lick his lips dryly. When they’d gotten inside the cave warren, he’d pulled the hood of his suit off. “We want to keep him alive, you know. Tez’ma won’t pay as much for a dead Vulcan. You know how he is. And I don’t think I need to remind you that he likes them untouched. Higher price and all that if he can be the first one to defile them.”

“I am aware.” Confidence had bloomed in Kirk’s voice. McCoy’s words, the way he nonchalantly described a figure that sounded fairly horrendous, had made Kirk’s decision all that much more easier to make.

“And this guy,” McCoy kicked Spock’s unmoving foot, “didn’t have anything to do with Gary Mitchell. You know that was some other fucker.”

_Gary Mitchell?_ Despite himself, Kirk had flinched at the name. The last time he’d seen Gary he’d been sporting godlike powers and glowing, plasma eyes. Had Kirk been forced to make the same sort of awful sacrifice in this universe as he had in his own?

His flinch wasn’t lost on Bones, who had immediately backpedaled.

“You really don’t need any more stress,” he said, a smile more plastic than genuine had stretched his features. “Just let me worry about it, eh? You won’t have to spare another thought for the hobgoblin. Me and Sulu’ll deal with it.”

“No.” Kirk’s voice throbbed with command. He couldn’t say why he was so determined. This was obviously nowhere close to the Spock he was used to, but he was still Spock. And something told Jim that no one would be treating the Vulcan kindly any time soon. Which he couldn’t quite fault them for, having seen the ferocity in Spock’s eyes first hand. But maybe there was some of the same intelligence, the same logic, the same childlike wonder and thirst for knowledge buried in this Spock like there was in the proper one. Kirk couldn’t give up hope that there was.

“No,” he said again. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Dammit Jim,” McCoy had grumbled, sighing. “You’re as stubborn as a Rigelian ox.” He bent and surveyed Spock as he lolled thickly in both Scotty and Kirk’s grips. He poked at him, pulling his eyelids up one at a time to gaze into his eyes. McCoy had then straightened, glaring at Kirk. “This elf is the healthiest I’ve seen in a while. He’ll make it through the night no problem. So if you come to me saying he’s dead and blame it on some disease…” He had let the threat hang.

“I am an honest man, Bones,” Kirk said, smiling a bit, though it didn’t reach his eyes. His curiosity, however, became too much to handle. “So what was it exactly,” he blurted out, “that I did to our last Vulcan?”

Scotty elbowed him in the gut but it was too late.

“Why?” McCoy’s gaze was shrewd. “Got amnesia?”

“Just humor me,” Kirk replied, warming to his role as clandestine commander.

Bones had hesitated for a moment, before he spoke again. “Well,” he’d said, keeping his voice quiet and gravelly, “now, I don’t blame you. I know it was an accident. It was right after the, uh, the thing with Mitchell and you got carried away. It happens. It was just some lowlife trader anyway. Do you remember the ears on him? Massive. He was probably inbred to boot. What I mean is, er, it wasn’t that big of a deal, alright?” He grumbled something under his breath, doing that nervous bounce on the balls of his feet that must be a universal constant for every McCoy in every dimension.

“I know,” he went on, “I know you ain’t some kind of coldblooded killer. That’s what we got Scotty here for, right?” He laughed anxiously and Scotty had bristled, unused to anyone referring to him as “coldblooded”.

“Spit it out,” Kirk said.

“You, uh, you smashed his head in,” Bones answered. “Came into my room in the goddamn middle of the night soaked with that green ice water they call blood and bits of brain, whining you had a mess what needs cleaning. Not to mention half your knuckles were broken from pounding him before you got the rock. Thank heaven he’d been sick and weak or he might not have let you get away with so few wounds. But I had to patch you up anyway. So, let’s just say that there are more pleasant things you coulda waken a man up to.”

It hadn’t been long after that exchange before Kirk and Scotty were able to drag Spock down one of the tunnels to Kirk’s room. Or, the room that belonged to the Kirk of this dimension anyway. The silken luminosity of the glowtubes gave the room an eerie cast. There were, much like in the Mirror Universe, objects of decadence that this universe’s Kirk had collected which the proper one would not have had the luxury or tackiness to accumulate. Antique weapons, some Vulcan, some Klingon, some human, and most unidentifiable, covered the walls. The bed was large and while the sheets upon it were threadbare, they were clearly made from expensive silk. The gritty stone floor was covered with a plush but dirty rug that at one time had been some sort of tapestry, no doubt pilfered out of a royal barge.

Looking around, Jim was unsure if he’d get along with his dimensional counterpart. The scruples seemed much more lacking here. Morals were more in a stasis of gray. He couldn’t imagine the savagery needed to brutally murder anyone. He could fight and he was good at it, but it was never more than self-defense. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to summon up the pure anger required to kill anyone with his bare hands.

What exactly had happened with Gary Mitchell? What had led this place’s Kirk to an extreme case of lynch justice? He had transmuted some sort of guilt onto an innocent Vulcan. The racism in that action was fairly apparent and palpable. To be associated with such monstrosity brought a wave of shame crashing through Kirk’s body. Still, he supposed it was better than the atrocities his mirror self had done.

He shucked off his hood and took a moment to appreciate the utter dryness in his mouth. The air itself out on the planet’s surface seemed to take away any droplet of moisture. He was thirsty and felt overly rough with sand. While the temperature in this hideaway was lower than in the open desert, it was still almost uncomfortably hot.

Scotty secured Spock’s manacles to a chair that was, for whatever reason, bolted to the floor, as Kirk wiggled out of his suit. The only thing he was wearing under it was a pair of skintight shorts and it felt good for his skin to be able to breathe again.

While they’d been traveling on the sehlat’s back, Scotty and Kirk had tried to figure out what their suits were and how they worked. They apparently captured every dewdrop of sweat and saliva, any fluid really, and stored it in catch pockets. By using a reconstitution device, the liquid could be harvested and filtered into drinkable water. This was not a planet where anyone could afford to waste even the most miniscule of drops. Rainfall was scarce and any body of water was quite small in the grand scheme of things.

On the Vulcan Kirk was used to, water was traded for and kept in controlled environments. There were numerous manmade oases and no one but those who willingly cast themselves out of society lived in the deep desert. He knew there was a Vulcan rite of passage where parents would leave a child in the desert to fend for his or herself for a few days; even Spock had been subject to this ritual. But the custom was beginning to slowly be phased out, much like the idea of arranged marriages. Though both traditions were still fairly common.

Kirk searched the room and eventually found the reconstitution device, an odd-looking machine. It was a metal box with a small hose on one side and a handful of plastic bladder sacks on the other. He found the sealed seam of his suit and attached the hose to it, watching the device whir to life, emptying the suit’s catch pockets and filtering the contents. The sacks began to slowly fill with clear water.

“That’s a wee bit gross, if you ask me,” Scotty said, shucking off his hood and perching on the edge of the bed. “Ye’ll be drinkin’ yer own sweat an’ all.”

“Better than nothing,” Kirk replied. He had the mischievous glint in his eye he got when he was overwhelmed by circumstances but glad for the adventure. It betrayed an adrenaline high laced with genuine worry. Scotty wasn’t sure if it was good for him to be looking that way quite yet. There was no telling what more they had to go through before they’d get back home.

Relaxing his hold slightly made desperation lace Scotty’s blood. The _Enterprise,_ the beautiful, wondrous lady he knew inside and out, was now far beneath the sand. And there didn’t seem to be an abundance of transporter technology lying around. To replicate what had brought them here in the first place would be a miracle. And for all Scotty knew, the act of sending them back to their proper dimension might deposit their counterparts from this dimension into the _Enterprise_ and under tons upon tons of sand. And while they didn’t seem like the most morally upstanding individuals, suffocating beneath the planet’s surface was not a fate Scotty would wish even on the most ruthless Klingon.

“Cap’n,” he said, a very slight tremor to his voice betraying his unease. If Kirk was scared, and the half-crazed light to his eyes made that seem very likely, Scotty figured he had a right to be as well.

Jim raised an eyebrow for a reply, as he greedily gulped down one of the bags of filtered water. It was warm and had a plastic, synthetic taste to it, but it coated his dry throat, which was all he really cared about.

“I donnae mean to sound timid,” Scotty went on, “but what’s our plan? I mean ter say, I’d rather not be here longer than I have to.”

“I know,” Jim agreed. He tossed his suit, the filter device, and sealed bags of water onto a vacant chair. A tiny trail of sweat slipped between his shoulder blades and he couldn’t help but stare at Spock. He could see the tiny green veins in Spock’s eyelids and the faint silken curve of his eyelashes. His lips were parted ever so slightly to allow for the exhalation of his steady, measured breathing. He looked utterly peaceful, his features smooth. Yet Kirk knew there was a lot going on behind those closed eyes as his brain sought to heal itself and close up the holes left from the termination of his marriage bond.

It was strange to think of Spock, even here, as being married. He’d seen T’Pring deny Spock with his own eyes. And he had fought his friend to keep him alive because of this denial. That she would accept here, in this savage environment, was still quite strange to him.

Stranger still was seeing him out of uniform. His cheeks and chin were dark and rough with stubble. And the rippling muscles of his chest, bare and inked, provided a stark contrast to the perpetual privacy his First Officer engaged in with his body.

Not liking where his mind was headed, Kirk turned back to Scotty.

“Listen,” he began, trying to imagine what he looked like to his Chief Engineer: sweaty, half-naked, and on edge. He tried to relax, to assume his persona of command. After all, he was still a captain. Just one without a ship and completely out of his element. But he’d been trained for this. To expect the unexpected in unknown space.

“I think we’ll be safe to sleep here tonight,” he continued. “And I’d like to feel out this Spock and this Bones, maybe we can trust one of them to help us.”

“Cap’n!” Scotty exclaimed. “I hate ter say it, but I don’t think that’d be wise. Neither seem exactly above board.”

“I know, but it’s obvious that we need help,” Kirk answered swiftly. “This is different than the last time. There is a lot more we don’t know. We’re not just on a different _Enterprise._ At least then we knew where everything was. Now we’re in the middle of nowhere. And I don’t think we’d survive more than a day out there on our own.” He paused. “But let’s worry about all that tomorrow, alright? After I’ve had a chance to –ˮ

A loud squeal broke off Kirk’s diatribe. It heralded the arrival of Uhura, wearing a flowing dress. Her hair was shorn, but she still managed to look beautifully feminine. She beamed at Scotty and barreled into him.

“There you are, my wonderful husband!” she said. “As per usual, you look very handsome!” She pulled back and glanced over Scotty’s face, still smiling. He managed to transform his startled expression into a lopsided grin just in time. Uhura pulled him into a rather sloppy kiss and didn’t seem to notice the stiff reply.

“What are you doing with Kirk?” she asked, pulling back again. “He’s not trying to get in your pants again is he?” She offered a glare in Jim’s direction. “You know, you waste a lot of water in all the semen you give away willy nilly. No wonder you drink like the world is just made of water. And all of it is just for you.”

“Uh,” Kirk started, but Uhura was still going on. It seemed she talked enough for both herself and Scotty in this universe.

“I talked to Chekov, you know,” she went on, pointing an accusatory finger in Kirk’s direction. “He says you’ve fucked him three times already this week. Granted, he’s a little Russian slut so none of that is surprising. Don’t see why Sulu thought marrying him would settle him down. Seems worse now, since he just does it behind Hikaru’s back. I swear though, one of these days Sulu’ll come home earlier than expected and take one of those katanas of his and run both of you through. Make a little Kirk and Chekov kabob with your dick still in him. I love Pavel, but it would serve the pair of you right.”

As she spoke, Uhura started to drag Scotty toward the door. The babbling appeared like a screen to distract Kirk. There was definitely still some intelligence sparkling in her dark eyes, despite how much her words sought to convince someone of the opposite.

“Have a good night, Jim,” she said overly cheerily, shoving Scotty out into the corridor. He protested feebly, but Kirk waved a dismissive hand. If Scotty and Uhura really were married, it was doubtful that Scotty would rather spend his time with Kirk than her, especially when everyone kept reacting in surprise at seeing the two of them together. It made Kirk wonder the way relationships were organized here. He was unsure who his friends were and how those friendships were defined.

He heard Uhura as she continued prattling, leading Scotty further into the bowels of the compound. Kirk wasn’t a praying man, but he offered a silent wish for his Chief Engineer to fend well for himself before he closed his door.

The room was so quiet then that it made his muscles tense up. He was so used to the steady hum of the _Enterprise._ Even on shore leave, they tended to stay on starbases that hummed in much the same way or on tropical planets where one could hear the sounds of life: wind in the tree branches, bird calls, the crash of waves against beaches.

Ah, that shore leave on Demarxis IV, a planet made up entirely of islands on gorgeously pure seas. He’d even managed to force Spock to go with them on that one. Bones, Kirk, and Spock shared a hut on one of the islands devoted entirely to tourists. Bones and Kirk would go out for lunch and come back to their rented bungalow to find Spock either meditating under a tree or swimming in the soft ocean currents.

At the beginning of leave, Spock hadn’t even known how to swim. There were no big enough bodies of water on Vulcan for one to learn in. And he’d never been interested in utilizing the _Enterprise_ ’s pool. After some less than graceful tries, he managed to teach himself and now looked like he was born to the water.

One time on the week they’d spent on Demarxis IV, Kirk had woken up in the middle of the night. He could hear Bones snoring loudly in the other room and the beach sounds outside his window, but everything else was silent. He’s peered out his window and there was Spock, standing on the shoreline, staring up at the stars. His boots sat a distance away from him and his pants had been rolled up past his knees. The moonlit water lapped around his ankles.

Kirk watched him for the longest time, but the Vulcan was completely motionless. Feeling like his body was being pulled by a set of strings, Kirk stealthily crept out of their shared hut and strolled up beside Spock, wearing the shorts and tank top he wore to bed. His bare feet squished in the spongy sand and the water was pleasantly warm as he waded into it, stopping beside Spock.

“Wha’cha doing?” he’d asked, following Spock’s gaze into the sky. He couldn’t recognize Demarxis’ constellations, but its twin moons were steadily moving closer to each other in the sky. They would pass each other around 03:30, he knew. There was a very brief eclipse every night on this planet. Part of its allure.

“There is to be a meteor shower tonight,” Spock replied smoothly. He didn’t seem at all perturbed by Kirk’s sudden appearance.

They had stood in silence then, looking at the dark sky. Spock would later say that he could feel the thrum of the sea life through his bare feet, much the same way his fingers could touch the pulse of sentient thought. But at the moment, he said nothing.

As if on cue, the sky lit up with hot white streaks, falling like snowflakes across the firmament. There were more than Kirk could count, all sloping lazily in vaults. He reached out his arms, a vestige from childhood, just to be closer to touching them.

“It’s beautiful, eh Spock?” he breathed. He slid a sidelong look at the Vulcan.

“Yes.” The response was barely audible. It wasn’t exactly properly emotionless either. Kirk grinned but didn’t comment on it.

Instead, he twirled, watching the meteors fall in their graceful ballet, his gut warm with happiness. They’d been out in space so long, they hadn’t seen anything like this, something one could only see from a planet’s surface, in years.

He’d gotten carried away in his excitement and splashed Spock with his wayward feet. Spock raised a surprised eyebrow, so Kirk crouched and flung a wave of water at him. Spock did the Vulcan equivalent of a scandalized balk. Then Jim had barreled into him, tackling him into the shallows. Spock’s civvies, which looked a lot like his uniform, black pants and tight black shirt, became soaked instantly.

Spock pushed back until they were both tumbling over each other, gasping every time salty water filled a throat or got past an eyelid.

After grappling for a while, Kirk had shoved Spock’s head under the water. He waited as the Vulcan thrashed, then let him up, sputtering. His usually prissy hair was slicked off his face, one lock sticking out the wrong way from the rest of them. Jim’s chuckles soon turned into all out laughter.

The absurdity of the whole situation had been wonderful. He had felt such a rising sensation in his chest, he could barely swallow. He’d wanted to grab hold of Spock and never let go.

_Was this before or after you realized you were in love with him?_ The voice was a taunting, terrible creature.

_Shut up,_ Kirk thought back savagely. He flung himself away from the memory and whirled around. He squealed aloud when he saw that Spock, not the collected Vulcan of his memories, but the bellicose creature of this dimension, was sitting up, eyes open and practically black as he glared across the room at Jim.

“Spock?” Kirk said tentatively. The shackles were still in place, so he wasn’t able to go anywhere, but Kirk still felt a stab of fear at the potential of Spock overwhelming him.

“How do you know my name, human?” Spock answered, his voice gravelly. He spat out the last word like it was a curse.. He pulled at the manacles around his wrist halfheartedly. “Do you just want to know what to cry out when you rape me? You needn’t bother. Any name will do.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Kirk said, “in any way. So long as you don’t hurt me, we’ll be good.

Spock looked incredulous. “I suppose a victim with a false sense of security is a fun game,” he went on. “A nice look of surprise on the face as you gut them.” He pointed toward the chair where Kirk had tossed his suit. “Can I have something to drink?” There was nothing about him that suggested worry at his predicament. He seemed resigned to whatever fate was planned for him.

_What’s he suffered that brought him to this point?_ Kirk wondered. _What horrid things are his imagination cooking up right now? What does he think I’m capable of?_


	4. Accept their reaching in the same way – with careful hands

Spock’s boots pounded the metallic corridor of the ship in a way that sounded louder than usual to his ears. Crewmen always parted, scampering away, if they saw him coming down the hallway, so it wasn’t just that a group of ensigns had gone completely silent at his approach. Life itself felt too quiet, the miniscule tendrils of his telepathic rapport with the captain successfully cut off.

He could remember the myriad lectures on emotions he’d had to endure from Sarek. How he had warned that the most deceitful of the lot was that which came in noiselessly, a reserved feeling lacking the fanfare of something like anger or excitement. Something that slowly wormed its way into the psyche, rather than busting down its doors.

“When you place a creature in a boiling liquid, it will jump out,” Sarek had said, gazing down his severe Roman nose at Spock, small and young. He had been holding something in his hand, some sort of Terran toy given to him by his human grandparents. He was unsure what he was supposed to do with it, but found comfort in holding it.

“Are you listening, Spock?” Sarek had said. Though nothing changed in his expression or in the tone of his voice, Spock felt the faintest hum of irritation crackle in the air between them.

“Yes, Father,” he’d replied demurely.

Sarek gave a curt nod before he continued, “When you place the same creature in cold water and slowly increase the temperature, it will not notice until it is too late and has been boiled to the point of death.” He paused and took the toy from Spock’s small hand. It was a tiny model of a starship that would fly around after a series of buttons had been pressed.

 “Disappointment is a slow parasite, Spock. You must be more on guard against it.” With a crack, he broke one of the nacelles off the tiny ship. He then dropped both pieces into Spock’s open palm. “Feel your disappointment. Own it. When you have done so, then you shall be able to logically deduce how to fix this object.”

The tiny ship, perfectly repaired, now sat in his quarters. He had been able to deal with disappointment, even as a child. But what Sarek had not taught him was how sluggish and leaden, and indeed invisible because of these traits, loneliness could be.

He stopped outside his quarters, sensing a mind, both familiar and completely foreign, inside. It had been four days since the anomaly that led to the disappearance of Kirk and Chief Engineer Scott, and they were not much closer to reversing it. But he’d learned enough to recognize the dynamics of the soul currently taking up residence in his room. Without permission, of course.

The door opened with its characteristic swoosh and Spock mentally prepared himself to step over the gravity shelf of his room. For comfort’s sake, he kept his room at Vulcan normal gravity, and the lights featured the red hue of the Vulcan suns. He adjusted almost immediately, a slight sense of relaxation overtaking him even as he tried to keep on high alert.

Jim Kirk, not his captain, not his friend, but the stowaway, lounged across his bed. He was dressed in the tight black off-duty uniform the quartermaster had given to him and Scotty, but he didn’t appear to have any weapons. The fact that he wasn’t locked in the brig like he was supposed to be was cause for alarm, but Spock couldn’t surrender to such a luxury, not with Sarek’s lessons still at the forefront of his formidable mind.

“Hello,” Kirk said on a yawn. He stretched, grinning seductively. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty.” He referenced the bed with a lazy sweep of the arm. “Your room is the homiest place on this godforsaken ship. Everywhere else is too heavy and too cold and too Earth-y.”

“You are supposed to be in the brig,” Spock replied stoically. They’d fixed it so Kirk’s voice command had no effect in the brig’s area of the ship, but evidently it could work just fine on the lock of Spock’s quarters.

Ignoring Spock, Kirk patted the bed next to him in invitation. There was a barely perceptible jump in Spock’s groin that he quickly eradicated. This was not Jim in his bed; this was some other sort of animal, some stranger. And even if it was his captain, feelings that such a fantasy inspired were unbecoming of Vulcans. He had to remove them.

When Spock didn’t move from the doorway, Kirk lifted himself further onto his elbows and gave a disgruntled sigh. “I hate you,” he said finally. “Here I am just trying to be a nice guy. Trying to talk to you. And you’re being very rude.”

Spock stepped forward slightly, his consciousness slipping over the whole room. It prodded against the mind much too simple to be as dynamic as the mind of his captain. There wasn’t the same tantalizing depth to it. There were also guards in place, slipshod but still enough to create an earthen wall obstacle around his thoughts. Someone had taught him how to keep Vulcans at bay. It was second nature to him now. No exertion or effort showed on his face.

He must have felt Spock’s delicate probing because a smile bloomed on his lips.

“You don’t know what to make of me, do you?” Kirk said. “You were close to my doppelganger, yes?”

Strange that he should think that way. When _he_ was the doppelganger. He was the changeling left in the wrong place.

“I can read you,” Kirk continued. He sat up fully, his hard hazel eyes watching every minute move Spock made. “Even though you’re not like the Vulcans at home. I know about you. I know about your kind. I know how to drive you crazy. I know how to please you.” As if it were nothing more than a nervous tic, he brought two of his fingers to his lips, running his tongue across the tips. A rush of blood rose to color Spock’s ears ever so slightly. “I can make you so horny you’ll swear you’re in _pon farr._ I could make you snivel and beg.”

“You overestimate your talents,” Spock replied. He took a calming, meditative breath that slowed his racing heart and dispelled the heat of his blood across his body. He locked his feelings in a box, cementing over them with logic and apathy. Kirk was doing nothing more than trying to get a rise out of him. He was trying to give himself the upperhand in the only way that he knew how to. The fact that he was trying at all was fascinating. He must have been getting pretty scared or overwhelmed. If he was anything like the Captain, then he would only feel properly centered when he was in unquestioned command.

Straightening his posture, Spock clasped his hands behind his back. He gazed serenely at Kirk, waiting for the man’s retort. He had put himself completely under control now, unaffected by the faint trickling of lust through his body.

Kirk tilted his head back and laughed. It was not the pleasant chime Spock was used to, but rather a gruff, condescending sound.

“I think you overestimate _your_ ability, Mr. Spock,” Kirk chuckled. He rubbed his hands together and then shot to his feet, keeping his distance. “You don’t have a bondmate, I’ve noticed. Yet, you’ve had to have gone through _pon farr_ at least once. Doesn’t your virgin flesh crawl for a touch? For a taste?” He scrubbed his hand over his chin. “I know more than you think.  I’ve watched you and you’re just like every other hobgoblin I’ve met, just a little bit more quiet about it.” He stepped forward.

Spock didn’t move. He kept his gaze trained on Kirk, calculating. The human had to know that if he were to attack, he would be easily defeated. Kirk’s considerable strength would still be pitiable when placed beside that of a Vulcan. Especially when this Kirk was just healing from dehydration and malnutrition.

“You hold your desire well, but you can’t hide it,” Kirk said. “And I can give you what you want. I can give you what you haven’t even been able to imagine.”

“Ah,” Spock replied. “And what do you require in return?”

“You aren’t very trusting are you?” Kirk said. His grin stretched out in a way that made something in Spock’s mind go tight. “I could just be acting out of the goodness of my heart. I could just be seeing a man in need and offering to help him out.” He stepped forward again. “You have the hots for me. It’s so obvious a Horta could see it and they don’t even have eyes. But I’m guessing that _he_ couldn’t see it. Or didn’t want to. So think for a minute: here I am, all ready and willing. Everything you think you want and more. I’ll be better than _him_ since you can touch me, love me, do whatever you want to me.”

“You wish to stay in this dimension,” Spock said. “You want to take the place of the proper James T. Kirk.”

“You are one smart feller. I thought they were pulling my leg when they said that you were. But I guess they were right.” Now he stood a hair’s breadth away from Spock, so close the toes of their boots touched. “And why wouldn’t I want to stay here? You guys all want for nothing. I’ve drunk more water in the last few days than I have my entire life back home.” He ran a hand lightly over Spock’s arm until the Vulcan shrugged him off. “I am better than my doppelganger because I’ll be yours.” He held up his hand.

Hesitating only a moment, Spock unhooked the grip he held behind his back and let his hand hover centimeters away from Kirk’s so Spock’s warmth flowed off of his Vulcan skin to heat Kirk’s flesh. Kirk smiled triumphantly and ran a fingertip across the point of one of Spock’s knuckles.

The touch brought an opening into Kirk’s mind and Spock found himself recoiling from it in disgust. There was a dry, hot darkness in there, unlike the cool rainfall and gorgeous flashes of lightning in his captain’s mind. Though he looked much the same, this was a different man standing before him. One whose mind did not mesh with Spock’s like it was made for him.

Swallowing, he pulled back into himself. He could do exactly what Kirk expected. He could act the part. He moved his fingers very slowly, caressing Kirk’s hand. He found himself reminded of a Romulan commander, her eyes full of wanting as she brought Spock’s hands to her lips.

This Kirk did well in impersonating her. He lifted Spock’s hand by the wrist and drew it to his mouth, slipping the digits dryly over his lips.

“What do you want me to do to you?” he murmured, his tongue rasping against Spock. With a relaxed pace, he reached for the clasp of his own pants, beginning to undo them.

“Turn around,” Spock replied, just as quietly. Grinning, Kirk complied, spreading his legs and bending forward ever so slightly. Spock pressed against him, his chest against the human’s back. His hands were spread on Kirk’s torso as his lips rested against an ear.

There was a rustle of clothing and Kirk was pulling himself out, trying to coax an erection.

“James,” Spock hissed silkily. He moved his hands up to Kirk’s shoulders. “There is nothing you have that I want.” He squeezed in just the right spot and Kirk’s body went slack, slumping into Spock’s arms.

McCoy called Spock a one trick pony with that nerve pinch. But people would never fail to fall for it.

He dumped Kirk onto the bed, tucking him back into his pants. He’d seen Kirk naked many times. It wasn’t the body itself that intrigued him, but the man it belonged to. That magnetic mind and the touch of a secret smile that he used only for Spock. The body was only compelling because the thoughts were so tantalizing. Spock did not love foolishly. And he didn’t even understand the scope of the love he felt now. He had never been in love before and he wasn’t sure if he could handle the messiness of it, if it were to happen to him.

He crossed the room to the communications console on the wall. He ordered a security team to pick up Kirk and to double the guards around him at all times. When they got closer to putting things right again, it was almost certain that Kirk, and probably Scotty as well, would get more and more desperate and try some other sort of stunt.

Spock lowered himself to his chair, steepling his fingers before him. He hadn’t slept at all since his beloved captain had been replaced with a sham, and the exhaustion and anxiety flittered just below the cap of meditative logic he had erected. The computer in his quarters was cycling through theories and hypotheses every moment of the day.

While the computer had registered an anomaly moments before the botched beam up, they were no closer to figuring out what it was. Something in the atmosphere of the planet they’d been exploring had reacted with the transporter technology. But it was impossible to know what that was when the computer kept chalking it up as a mechanical malfunction. After all, they’d been able to beam down to the planet’s surface without any incident, so it couldn’t have been the atmosphere itself.

Some sort of storm then. But there had been no significant clouds of ions in the area. Just that tiny blip in the computer algorithm.

_I am better than my doppelganger._

Spock’s brows furrowed slightly.

_My DOPPELGANGER._

Whose to say which Kirk is the true one? Which Kirk is the real one and which is the clone? The doppelganger? The changeling?

“Their end caused this,” Spock whispered to himself. “Something there. In that universe. An ion storm perhaps.”

The other dimension exerted its power over this one. The lines had been crossed there. It was only an acute sense of egocentrism that led everyone in this universe to study this problem as if it had originated in their home.

“Jim,” Spock muttered on the breath of a sigh.


	5. Ma etek natyan teretuhr lau erek shetau weh-lo’uk do tum t’on

There was nothing but the fire. It spewed volcanic ash and licked its burning tongues over Kirk’s legs. He felt it as a slick fever overtaking him as he stood in the desert sands. It soon receded into nothing but a rope of heat and the landscape glimmered around him.

A woman appeared, her skin pale and eyes milky. She was dressed in a silver slip that hugged her curves. She appeared ageless and serene, a knowing smile on her full lips as she observed Kirk.

She didn’t say a word but stepped into his arms. Her skin was as hot as the fire had been and her scent was metallic.

“You need to find me,” she said. “I’m missing.”

“But you’re right here,” Jim argued. He clutched her close against him, relishing the softness of her body. “You’re not missing.” He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the coppery smell of her.

“Yes I am,” she replied, but her voice had altered. Kirk lifted his face to look at her and saw the playful expression of Miramanee. Her hair fell in dark ringlets down her back and he caught them, carding them through his fingers.

“Kurack,” she said, smiling. “Do you miss me? Why do you not search for me?” She pulled away from his grip and skipped ahead, giggling. “Catch me.” She turned and began to run.

“Wait!” Kirk yelled. He chased her, but he couldn’t get any closer to her quickly receding back. The sand dragged at him, pulling until his muscles strained uselessly. From far off, Miramanee began to sing. A haunting lullaby that he had heard among her people lilted in the stale air. Something she would have sung to their child had she had the chance. “Miramanee!”

“She is nothing but a memory,” the original, silvery woman said. She had appeared beside Kirk once more, her hand on his shoulder. The faraway singing continued but he could no longer see Miramanee. “She was you wife for nothing but a few hours. You have given yourself to me for life. No other.” She gripped his chin in her hand, dragging him to her, chastely kissing his lips. “And now I need you. Rescue me.”

“I don’t know who you are,” he said. His frustration bubbled up in his gut. He wanted to find Miramanee, to ask for forgiveness. Her death and that of their unborn child still weighed on his conscious.

“Search,” she replied. She then pulled him into a deeper kiss, her mouth warm and moist against his. He closed his eyes and felt her change. The lips touching him realigned, her softness became hard.

“Spock?” He opened his eyes and found himself wrapped up in his First Officer’s arms. Spock did not relinquish his hold, but simply bent forward, kissing Kirk again. His hands enveloped Kirk’s waist, pushing their chest flush against each other.

Kirk felt his cock begin to swell, pressing adamantly into Spock’s leg. He whimpered as the Vulcan sucked on his bottom lip, his hands moving down to cup Kirk’s ass.

“Captain,” Spock said, before nipping at his throat. “If you love me, then find me. I’m buried in the sand. I need you. When you come for me, then we may make love. We may be one.”

“We can do that now,” Kirk insisted, palming the front of Spock’s trousers. “I do love you, Spock. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to touch you? We would play chess late into the night and I would be so tempted to invite you to stay the night. But my own fear prevented it.” He bounced onto his tiptoes in the sand, capturing Spock’s lips with his own. The fever lit anew through his flesh. “Now we don’t have to worry about any of that.”

“Captain,” Spock said again. “Find me.”

 

 

 

 

 

      

Kirk woke with a halfhearted groan leaving his throat. He was soaked in sweat and gasping from the too thin atmosphere. The room around him was dark; the only light came from a single glowtube set at 5%. Its meager illumination allowed him to see Spock, tattooed and scruffy, still chained to the chair in the bedroom of Kirk’s counterpart. Spock’s eyes were closed and his breathing was measured, so Kirk supposed he was asleep.

Jim kicked off the nest of sheets around him, the sweat almost instantly beginning to cool on his skin. It was only then that he registered what had woken up in the first place.

Someone was in his bed with him. He jumped, tensing himself to bolt, but an arm wrapped around him in a way meant to be soothing.

“Shh, darling,” a voice hushed him. It was sweet with a honeyed Southern accent. Bones. “It’s just me.”

“What…?” he started, but gulped with Bones squeezed closer to him, the unmistakable thickness of the doctor’s erection prodding Kirk’s inner thigh.

His mind began to spin. Did he dare protest? The Kirk of this dimension would welcome anyone into his bed. To act in any way contrary to that would arouse suspicion. He could feign illness, but McCoy was a doctor, so he would be able to see right through that. Or demand a battery of tests to confirm it.

“I haven’t had you in a while,” McCoy was saying. “I was a little worried when you got attacked by that Vulcan there. Made me hungry for another taste.” He laughed quietly. “Dammit Jim, remember that time in S’plar? That Orion gave us sex pollen real cheap like. I don’t think we left the bedroom for days.”

_Sex. Ugh, why was everything sex here? Was there nothing else?_ Kirk twisted slightly, putting some distance between his ass and McCoy’s crotch.

“I’m tired,” Kirk offered pitiably. He wiggled even further away from Bones, shrugging out of his grip. He would have to deal with the doctor’s suspicion. There was no way he could submit to this. Bones was his best friend and he wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye after he returned to the proper universe if he possessed intimate knowledge of McCoy’s penis.

Bones laughed. “Tired?” he mimicked unkindly. He wrapped his arms around Kirk again, pulling himself closer. “You’re never tired. You have energy for days.” He nuzzled his face into the nape of Kirk’s neck. His hand began to wander toward the waistband of Kirk’s shorts.

Jim shot up and out of McCoy’s grip like a photon torpedo. He stood beside the bed with his arms crossed over his chest. McCoy sat up with a wide-eyed look of surprise on his face that quickly morphed into annoyance.

“What is your problem?” he demanded. “You’ve been weird all day. You and Scotty both.”

“It’s nothing,” Kirk grumbled. “I don’t know about Scotty, but I just don’t want to... uh, fuck right now.” He hoped he judged the way this Kirk would speak. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Spock sit up, running a hand through his hair. Kirk swallowed the urge to apologize for waking him up.

“You always want to fuck,” McCoy said. He got to his feet and he was dressed only in a pair of briefs. “You got into some drugs or something?”

“No,” Kirk replied. All of his muscles were tensed as taut as the strings on Spock’s Vulcan lyre. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get out of this. Perhaps it would be better just to surrender. But he didn’t think he could do it. He looked over at Spock, whose dark eyes were liquid in the low light.

“Jim,” Bones said, bouncing on his toes. “I’m asking this seriously now: what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I—ˮ Kirk started.

“Perhaps he does not find you aesthetically pleasing,” Spock offered, his voice still rough from sleep. “And he wishes to spare your feelings.”

“Shut up, hobgoblin,” McCoy growled. “I didn’t ask you. Besides, tomorrow you’ll be nothing more than a distant memory and purse full of credits. Then you’ll be somebody else’s problem.”

“No,” Kirk said before he could stop himself. “I want to keep him.”  

‘What?” Bones exclaimed. He balked, squinting his eyes shrewdly. “Are you out of your cornfed mind? Do you realize how much he’s worth? I put up with a lot from you Jim, but this is too much. You’ve gone crazier than a cat in heat.”

“No,” Kirk repeated. There was no way he could explain the way Spock would always be wrapped around his blood no matter what universe they were in. There was something, a way of moving, a certain fleck in the eye, that revealed the core of Spock. That core was the same no matter what and it tugged at Kirk, writhing around his being like smoke. Despite the threatening words the Vulcan had spat when they’d first ran up against him, Kirk found himself, maybe naively, trusting him.

He looked over at Spock and the Vulcan gazed coldly back. One of his eyebrows had lifted. He was so much quieter, so much calmer, than he’d been before. Bones had briefly explained that the male bondmate was the repository for all the female’s emotions as well as his own. His brain was in a constant bath of hormones while she was free from such restraints, allowing intelligence to flourish without the shackles of emotion holding it back. The destruction of the bond let Spock’s mind to drift back, terribly slowly, into equilibrium.

He seemed much closer to his counterpart, the Spock Kirk was used to, now than he did at all before. But there was still much that wasn’t right about him. So why did Kirk want nothing more than to trust him with the knowledge of the predicament he was in? And why did he expect Spock to have all the answers? He wanted that smooth voice to tell him that he could construct a device that will put the universes back the way they need to be.

“Jim?” McCoy said, concern etched across his features. “If this is about Mitchell—ˮ

“It’s not, “Jim replied. He stepped closer to Spock, who recoiled ever so slightly. Kirk gulped. He felt like the only sane man in the asylum and he wasn’t so sure that his sanity wasn’t slipping. He was one point in a trinity and that trinity had to be a constant. It was here in this place.

The dream kept climbing his spinal column. He could feel the metallic woman in his arms. The shimmer of her silver dress floated in his mind’s eye.

He swept his gaze over Spock and then Bones. His hands itched to grab onto both of them. They were different, completely different than the men he knew he really needed, but he still wanted them. The decision was made up and his logic couldn’t argue against the emotion, the desperate need for trust, that swirled in the pit of his stomach. His intuition, the silver goddess in his mind as well, were urging him forward.

“I don’t know how to make you understand,” Kirk began tentatively. His voice came out stronger than he thought it would. When he looked at Spock, he saw the white streaks of meteor tails reflected in his eyes. “Please meld with me.”

“Jim!” McCoy yelped. He lunged forward, clutching onto Kirk’s wrist as he reached toward Spock. Both of the Vulcan’s eyebrows had shot up, disappearing into his bangs. “You’re sick. Let me get my medi—ˮ

“Leonard,” Kirk growled. He pushed McCoy’s grip off of his arm. “I’m not sick. Trust me, please. I’m not who you think I am. Spock can prove it.”

“What do you mean?” McCoy said. He looked like he planned to bolt for a hypospray at the nearest opportunity. Sweat glistened on his upper lip and Kirk realized that he was covered in his own sheen of it. He was thirsty, thirstier than he’d been in a very long time. They dry air itself constricted around him. “What did that Vulcan do to you?”

“Nothing,” Jim said. “Please just trust me, Bones. Something happened and it’s hard to explain and I need Spock to help me.” He paused, searching McCoy’s face. “Please trust me.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Bones argued. “You let that elf in your head and he could drive you insane. Or kill you. Or completely control you until you kill everyone else. On a normal day, I trust you Jim. But I don’t trust that greenblooded freak farther than I can throw him.”

“He’s right,” Spock said, tugging idly at his manacles. “You let me in your brain and I could melt it in your skull.”

“Call it a hunch, but I don’t think you’d do that,” Kirk replied. He sat beside Spock, who immediately pressed himself into the furthest corner away from him. Bones started pacing frustratedly around the room. “I think you’re both curious about what I have to say.”

“Then say it,” Bones growled.

Kirk turned expectantly to Spock. The Vulcan relaxed his posture almost imperceptibly, still looking skittish. He pulled at the cuffs that held him.

“What I’m going to say will probably sound crazy to you, so that’s why I need Spock to verify it,” Kirk continued. Whether or not Bones would believe Spock was irrelevant; at least Jim would have the Vulcan on his side. Of course, believing him and helping him were two very different things. Yet he found himself assuming that Spock would do so. He did have the leverage of being able to barter for his freedom after all.

“There are few things you say that don’t sound crazy,” Bones grumbled. He stopped pacing, bounced on his toes, and crossed his arms over his chest. The glare he offered was confused but good natured. “I honestly think you’re more insane than a Klingon.”

“Yea, well, this will probably take the cake for craziness,” Kirk said. He took a deep breath. This was a terrible idea and he knew it, but he also knew he had to give it a go. “I’m from a different dimension. And I’d really like to get back to where I’m from.”

Silence descended over the room. It lasted for a long moment before McCoy’s face broke into a wide smile. He started to laugh loudly. Eerily, Spock began to laugh as well. Kirk didn’t think he had ever heard the Vulcan guffaw so loudly and with such abandon. It was unnerving.

“Please let me go get my medkit,” Bones said finally, “you have to be suffering from heat stroke or something.”

Ignoring him, Kirk wiggled closer to Spock. He grabbed Spock’s arm and pulled his hand up to his forehead. “Meld with me,” Kirk said, “and if you still think I’m crazy, I’ll consent to all the beads and rattles you want to shake at me, Bones.”

McCoy stepped forward, his muscles tense. “Don’t do this Jim,” he mumbled. “I know you’re stubborn as a Gorn, but this is stupid. What makes you think the Vulcan won’t mind rape you into oblivion?”

“I just know,” Kirk replied.

Spock’s fingers moved, slipping onto Kirk’s psi points. Jim began to catalogue his thoughts, locking up certain memories and feelings. He pushed to the forefront that thought of his captaincy and his knowledge of parallel dimensions.

“My mind to your mind,” Spock whispered. There was a half grin on his face that should have aroused suspicion, but Kirk didn’t allow himself to give in to it.

He felt a coolness rush over his face and his eyes drooped closed. He was tugged deep inside himself, deep into the hallways of his mind. They were organized much like the corridors of the _Enterprise._ He stood in his command golds as he felt a presence solidify beside him.

Spock began to flit around him, throwing open doors as the mood took him and feasting on the information there. Faces, names, bits of trivia, all of it surfaced in Kirk’s mind and quickly disappeared again as Spock finished looking at it.

Jim pushed back, feeling the hallways of Spock’s mind just out of reach. When he strained toward them, a wall smashed into him, stronger and more savage than anything he had felt yet. He stumbled back, tumbling into Spock.

“Tsk, tsk,” Spock said, but the voice wasn’t a sound per se. It was an echo of sorts, but even calling it that didn’t encapsulate what the voice was. It was ethereal as a thought and seemed like a tiny caress of temperature over his nerve cells. “You keep your grubby hands out of there.”

Spock then finished flipping through the open doors and shoved against the locked ones. Kirk moved to defend his secrets, but Spock jostled him out of the way.

“Let me in,” he grumbled, glaring at Jim. He shoved viciously and Kirk could both feel and see the nearest door begin to crack under Spock’s strength. He rammed his shoulder against it and it began to fracture in earnest.

“No,” Kirk yelped, leaping at Spock. They both tripped over each other and toppled into the door. It smashed apart, releasing memories rapid fire: the last time he saw his father, Sam’s death, stealing kisses with Gary Mitchell at the Academy, Miramanee, Edith Keeler, love and loss over and over, swift and racing. The emotions coiled like serpents around him. They moved into Spock so he breathed deeply to fill his lungs with the veiled thoughts Kirk had wanted to keep hidden.

He fought against Spock as the Vulcan tried to go even deeper. Areas of shame and guilt and longing were his targets. The silver goddess of his dream, the sleek form of the _Enterprise._ The wife he hungered for.

Spock batted him aside like he was an insect and continued his relentless probing.

Kodos. Khan. And faces waxy with death left in the wake of such harbingers. And then Kirk was standing before the bad parts of himself made real by some other transporter accident, as his command slowly slipped and he accused the would be rapist. This imposter, who could not even be called such because he was as much a part of Kirk as anything else, had wanted more than to simply seize Janice Rand, this imposter that was as much a part of Kirk as any other facet of his personality had sought to ravish the _Enterprise_ herself. To lay waste to the silver goddess in her own temple.

Spock seemed to be slowing, filling to the brim with the droplets of Kirk’s life. The hands that had been greedily reaching were beginning to fall back and Kirk breathed a silent sigh of relief. Until a tendril of Spock’s thoughts bumped against a locked chest in Kirk’s mind, chained shut and bolted against any intruders.

“What’s in here?” Spock asked, his curiosity bursting to life once more. He tugged at the chains and Jim knew they were rusting at the touch of Vulcan strength, falling away. He had never expected his mind to be so weak. But he had always been more susceptible to Spock than to anyone else.

It only took the Vulcan a few more moments and he had busted open the chest. The memories that swooped out like sins from Pandora’s Box were warm, well- loved, and well-looked over.

And they were all of Spock.

The teasing, dry jokes the Vulcan would stoically pronounce. The classified grin that was little more than twitches at the corner of his mouth, but was only ever for Kirk. The heat in a gaze. Even the flash of surprise the first time Kirk had beat him at chess.

But there was more. So much more. The consuming worry when Spock stepped in the way of a plant’s poisonous spores. Or when he looked on the Medusian without the necessary eyewear. That soul crushing pain that boiled in his stomach when the _Galileo Seven_ had been lost.

Oh, and the jealousy. Seeing him with his arms wrapped around Leila. The words “my wife” when T’Pring took up the viewscreen. And even a stupid envy of computers and scientific equipment because they got to experience the soft kiss of Spock’s fingers.

Over it all, a desperation for contact. There was a want so bone deep that to indulge it was to drown in it.

Spock, the wild Vulcan who had never been a part of Starfleet, retreated from the chest and even further, pulling out of Jim’s mind. He was gasping, wide-eyed and McCoy was yanking on him and yelling. His hands slipped off of Kirk’s face and Spock seemed to slowly realize that his eyes were stinging with tears.

Jim’s lids lazily opened and his gaze was clear, stubborn, and determined.

“Dammit!” Bones shouted. “What happened? What did he do to you? Jim!” He grabbed onto Kirk’s shoulders and shook him violently. “You both started yelling. You probably woke up the whole compound. Give it a minute and we’ll have Uhura in here ready to chew you out.”

Silently, Spock wiped the tears from his face. He rubbed them into his palms as gracefully as could be managed with the cuffs around his wrist.

“Jim,” he whispered. The single syllable said more than anything else would about the mindset of the Vulcan. Kirk had felt Spock’s less than noble intentions in the meld. He had wanted to find everything he could, to blackmail, to control. He had planned to imbed a command, a harmless word, deep in the circuitry of Kirk’s brain that would move him to obey Spock’s whims. But that syllable, his name which had never been spoken in quite the same way, was a tiny metamorphosis.

The problem with mind melds was that they affected both parties in ways no one could predict.

“Jim,” Spock repeated. “I shall help you get back to him.”


	6. We have differences. May we, together, become greater than the sum of both of us.

The door chime was the first sound Spock had heard in the three hours since he had retired from duty for the ship’s night. He sat before the computer terminal of his quarters, fingers steepled in front of his face. The screen was filing out numbers, analyzing that tiny blip that it had registered before the transporter accident, from all different angles. It had been ten days and they still hadn’t left the orbit of Sigma K, whose natives had necessitated the quick beam up of the Captain and Chief Engineer.

“Enter,” Spock said coolly. The fire burning in the statue of the Watcher that sat on one of his shelves cast a crimson hue on his room, but when the door opened, white light from the ship’s corridor flooded over the apartment.

McCoy stepped in, his legs bent as he crossed through the gravity shelf. He straightened up as soon as he was able and stalked over to Spock.

“You,” he growled, pointing a finger at the Vulcan, “I swear on my Great Aunt Matilda’s grave, are suicidal.”

“I must disagree, Doctor,” Spock replied. “Suicide would be most illogical.”

McCoy crossed his arms over his chest and bounced on his toes angrily.

“Well then, you’re doing a damn fine job of being illogical.” He leaned closer when Spock moved his attention back to his computer. “Listen here, mister.” He began to tick items off on his fingers. “You’ve practically tripled your work load trying to tackle everything Jim, Scotty, and yourself would do. You haven’t eaten since this whole debacle started. And I’m pretty sure you haven’t slept either.”

“Your worry is unfounded, Doctor,” Spock said. He swiveled his chair further away from Bones, determinedly keeping an eye on the computer readouts. “As a Vulcan, I do not require –ˮ

“Bullshit, Spock,” McCoy growled. He clutched onto the arm of Spock’s chair and forcibly moved him back. McCoy leaned over him until their noses practically touched. “You’re an inch away from working yourself to death. Even Vulcans have their limits and I happen to know what they are. I’ve had a conversation or two with M’Benga. So don’t try to play off that you’re the only one in the know here, Spock.” He sighed and straightened up, releasing the chair. “You’re not invincible and you’re not doing Jim any favors by starving yourself to death.”

Spock’s only response was a series of slow blinks. He took quick stock of his body and realized that hunger _was_ gnawing at the pit of his stomach. There was a tiredness about his eyes that was seeping sluggishly into his brain. He had trained his mind a little too well to ignore the desires of his body. But even so, he didn’t have the luxury of rest.

“I am in temporary command of this vessel,” he said finally. He got smoothly to his feet and wavered slightly. A wave of dizziness wriggled across his brain, but he was able to hide all its ill effects from the nosy doctor. “And as such, it is my duty to be sure all is running efficiently. It is also my duty as Chief Science Officer to discover the source of the anomaly that caused the dislocation of the Captain and the Chief Engineer.”

“Yea, but no one expects you to do it alone, you crazy hobgoblin,” McCoy grumbled. One of Spock’s eyebrows rose at the exasperation in his voice. “You’re not the only person on this ship. Or even the only one able to figure out this transdimensional bullshit or whatever. There’s an entire staff of science officers willing to be your lackey and I’m pretty sure Chekov is an eager beaver when it comes to this kind of crap.”

Before Spock could argue, Bones stepped up close to him once more. He searched the Vulcan’s stern face.

“You’re not the only one who wants Jim back,” he said quietly. “But I think he can handle himself. I was talking to Lieutenant Axl and she told me about your hypothesis: that the ion storm or whatever might have happened on the other end. Which means there isn’t a whole hell of a lot that you can do here. So you’re just gonna have to trust that Jim and Scotty have it under control. They’re smart, resourceful guys. So stop running yourself down for nothing.”

“Doctor,” Spock replied. Something in his tone made McCoy flinch. “I… The captain and I…”

“Don’t,” Bones cut in, holding up a hand. “Before you say something you regret: I know. I heard what you were saying that one time Jim was knocked out in sickbay. I took the liberty of asking the universal translator what _t’hy’la_ means. I hope the next time you say it to him, Jim will be awake to hear you.” He paused and his expression hardened once more. “Now eat something and go to bed. Doctor’s orders.” He made his way back to the door. “If you’re not asleep the next time I poke my head in, I’ll knock you out with a hypo.”

Without a backward glance, he disappeared into the corridor. Spock was left reeling at his words. He had thought himself so careful, so meticulous in hiding. Yet he seemed more transparent than he had ever thought himself to be.

He dug in the storage units of his quarters for the small container of meal pills. They provided the same amount of calories and nutrients as a full meal and were more often than not used in survival situations. They were chalky and unpleasant tasting, but they would stamp out the fires of hunger. And it was better than going to the galley and facing curious crewmembers. Spock was not in the frame of mind for such an excursion into the subtle intricacies of human small talk.

He swallowed one of the pills before perching gracefully on the edge of his bed. As much as he didn’t like to admit it, McCoy was right. There was a weariness in Spock’s bones that tugged at him.

Helplessness was an emotion and he knew it was shameful to indulge it, but it welled up in his body nonetheless. He felt weak and ignorant. He’d always been able to rely on his intellect before, but now it seemed to be failing him. He was on the cusp of falling entirely into his human half and giving in to the dishonorable wellspring of his own emotions.

So many feelings he didn’t have the knowledge to define were assailing him. He had lost his center. Meditation proved futile against the onslaught. In everything his was doing he was growing careless.

If he were a weaker man he would have yelled in frustration. As it was, he very serenely reposed on his bed, allowing his muscles to relax.

No sooner had he begun the breathing sequence that would allow him to drift off to sleep then his communications console chirped to life with the boatswain whistle. He sat up and depressed the button.

“Spock here,” he said. His voice betrayed no hint of the inner turmoil raging within him.

“This is Lt. Uhura.” Her voice was clipped and professional. “We just received a memo from Starfleet. Would you like me to transfer it to the computer in your quarters?”

“Yes.” Spock stood and returned to the chair in front of his computer terminal. He thought suddenly that there was a human nicety he was missing and added a breathy, “thank you, Lieutenant.”

With a tiny spit of static, the communication terminated. His computer pinged instead with an incoming message.

 

_To: XO S. Spock, temp Cmdg NCC1701 USS ENTERPRISE_

_From: Adm. R.T. Todd affil. Office of the Fleet Admiral_

_Msg: 7001236_

_Date: ____

_Commander Spock_

_We have received your communication regarding what we are referring to as a slip in the space-time continuum; more specifically, in dimensional tempokinetics. Your orders are to report to Starbase 7 posthaste. There you will meet with Admiral Choi for further instruction._

_Admiral Todd_

           

After reading the message over again, Spock blinked quickly and steepled his fingers. Starbase 7 was three days travel at Warp 5. But what exactly constituted “posthaste”? And if the _Enterprise_ left its current location, would Kirk be able to find his way back? Spock didn’t suppose anyone could know the answer to that. Not yet.

            He remembered a time McCoy and Kirk were arguing over a set of orders from Starfleet. Despite the doctor’s protests, Kirk had grinned and shrugged, saying only a cheery, “That’s the rules.” Yet he had more often than not broken those selfsame rules.

            However, Spock was not Captain Kirk. His opinion on Starfleet orders and regulations was not so flippant. He couldn’t flat out disobey a direct order unless it questioned his deep-seated logic.

            He hailed the bridge.

            “Mr. Chekov, set a course for Starbase 7.” Again, he remembered in the nick of time to add a nicety. “Please.”

            “Aye, Meester Spock,” came the eager reply.

            When he felt the telltale shudder of the ship leaving orbit, Spock laid back down on his bed. He expected McCoy to come and argue with his decision, but the doctor must have been engaged elsewhere.

            Spock stared across the way at the burning coals of the Watcher’s eyes. A holdover from the ancient gods, it was nothing more now than an archetype to focus on in meditation. More emotional species found the small idol demonic and frightening. They of course, didn’t know that it symbolically represented T’Khut, Vulcan’s sister planet that was riddled with volcanoes. And there was a savagery to it. The more superstitiously minded had believed that the phases of T’Khut had a direct influence on the circadian rhythms of the Rapture, the _pon farr._

            Undisciplined, Spock’s mind moved in the direction the Watcher took it. He had only a few more years before the Blood Fever would take him again. If he remained unbonded, it would mean little more than a death sentence.

            He closed his eyes and began the breathing sequence for sleep. Every breath brought clearer into focus the sacred ground of the Place of Marriage and Challenge. Who could he bring to this place to stand before the Great Matriarch of T’Pau? Who would dare consent to be the mate of a sterile half-breed? Who would not spurn and refuse him in the way T’Pring had?

            The breathing sequence ended and he drifted off to sleep, finding comfort in visions of a glistening smile and glowing, hazel eyes.

 

 


	7. Dakh pthak. Nam-tor ri ret na’fan-kitok fa tu dakh pthak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that there is a little bit of dubious consent in this chapter

T’Khut made its steady trek across the sky, pressing the red flares of its numerous volcanoes against the darkness of the night sky. The planet, more colossal than any moon, cast a red hue onto the bleached sands of Vulcan’s surface. Kirk kept glancing up at it, half entranced by the ability it had to dwarf everything else in the sky.

            He was on the back of the sehlat from earlier, who Spock called I-Chaya. When they’d exited the rock compound, Kirk, Spock, Scotty, and Bones, the creature had bleated happily upon glimpsing the Vulcan. Now he held the four men on his back and moved completely silently over the dunes. Despite his questionable intelligence, the sehlat was bred for the desert and moved accordingly.

            “I must be insane,” Bones muttered to himself. “Trusting a _Vulcan,_ for heaven’s sake. Who the hell believes in parallel dimensions anyway? This one has enough problems for a shit ton of other dimensions. Why would anyone want more?” He then spoke up loudly. “Hey elf! Just cause you’re helping us or whatever, don’t mean nothing. I’m still gonna take you to Antrok and sell you to the highest bidder, so help me God.”

            There was a low rumble from Spock in response, though he didn’t look away from where he was guiding I-Chaya. He’d been freed from the cuffs that had bound him, despite furiously vocal protests from Bones, and used his free hands against I-Chaya’s head to move him the way he wanted the sehlat to go.

            Scotty crawled closer to Kirk, ungracefully clutching tight to I-Chaya’s fur. “Captain,” he whispered. In the red light of T’Khut, he looked partly satanic.

            “Yea?” Jim replied just as softly. McCoy and Spock had begun to bicker. Their tendency to do so must have been something that bled through every universe. Though the words out of both of their mouths in this dimension were much less civilized than Jim was used to. He didn’t think he’d ever live to hear the Spock of his dimension say that McCoy was “too stupid to find his own asshole in the dark”.

            “Well, eh… What exactly is going on?” Scotty continued, barely audible. His voice was doubly muffled by the hood of his suit. His eyes were about the only part of his face that Kirk could see. They were all dressed in the moisture-locking suits except for Spock. He was still dressed in his tight shorts and nothing else. The tattoos on his chest seemed to coil like snakes in the dark red light.

            “Well, Scotty,” Kirk started, leaning closer, “we’re going back to the _Enterprise._ ”

            “I know that,” Scotty snapped. He then added hastily, “sir.” He rubbed at his eyes and it was obvious he hadn’t gotten much sleep. In fact, when they went to retrieve him, he was dozing as Uhura babbled to him in a constant stream. “I was wonderin’ how ye decided tae bring the doctor and Spock into yer confidence. And they agreed tae come out here in the wee hours.”

            Kirk swallowed drily. He wasn’t sure how to respond. He didn’t quite understand it himself. He’d had to have been out of his mind, or just more desperate than he’d let on. He’d followed his intuition and luckily, it’d panned out alright. But it could have gone horribly wrong and he never even much considered the risk.

            On top of that, he wasn’t sure how he managed to convince Spock and Bones to go out of their way for him. The brush with Kirk’s mind seemed to turn Spock into a different man. He no longer seemed to be aloof and overly angry. He wasn’t quite so frightened and yet resigned to a fate he was sure was horrid.

            But Jim could at least half-understand Spock’s cooperation. Mindmelds did some weird stuff to the people involved, after all. He was still feeling a little dizzy, a little out of sorts over the whole thing. There was still a faint, tingling tug in his brain toward Spock. Almost like a Vulcan-shaped phantom limb. So he could comprehend Spock’s participation in this trip. At least, a bit.

            What was a little harder to fathom was McCoy’s agreement. It had taken Kirk revealing completely untouched skin where his counterpart had had scars to convince the doctor. Apparently McCoy had patched up Kirk more than a handful of times and knew where all the scar tissue was as if he had a map of it. The most evident discrepancy had to be the missing regeneration scars on three of the fingers of his left hand. His counterpart had gotten the fingers chopped off while trying to fix up the hovercycle’s motor.   

            Even knowing that this Kirk was the wrong Kirk may not have encouraged him to try and figure out how to put it right. But thank all the gods of Vulcan that it did.

            “Well,” Kirk began, “I figured we needed their help and so I convinced them I wasn’t the Jim they were used to, or the one that they expected.”

            Scotty looked less than swayed. He didn’t have a chance to say anything more however, as I-Chaya suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. His fur bristled, scratching against those on his back. Spock went silent and stiffened and McCoy shut up mid-tirade.

            “What –ˮ Kirk began, but Spock silenced him with a ferocious look. Bones hunkered down farther on I-Chaya’s back and began tinkering with the tricorder-looking device on his belt.

            There was a sound that seemed to skirt over the sand itself. It was a distant rumbling that made the hair on the back of Jim’s neck stand up on end. He looked over at Scotty and the engineer was nothing but a pair of terrified, wide eyes in the sudden darkness. T’Khut’s light, as dark and uninviting as it was, had faded into near blackness, as crimson as rusty blood.

            “Fuck,” Bones breathed, poring over the device’s readout. “It’s a big ole granddaddy one.”

            Spock closed his eyes and placed a hand on the massive skull of I-Chaya. The sehlat surged forward immediately, changing course from the direction they’d been going, and ran full tilt. Their motion was no longer silent and kicked up sand that hissed against them.

            A tower of rock began to come into view, looking like a gigantic creature in the low light and heavy air of an incoming storm. I-Chaya barreled toward it. The rumbling was getting louder, drowning out the sound of the sehlat’s heavy breathing. A dune, less than a mile away, began to crumble, sand dancing off of it in a whirlpool.

            “Faster,” Bones seethed. He clutched onto I-Chaya and yanked the tufts of fur at his neck.

            They reached the rock and hurtled into an opening in the cliff face. Before the sehlat had even stopped moving, McCoy leapt from his back, scrambling to his feet. He screamed for Jim to follow him and ran to the opening of the cave they’d skidded into. Kirk slid down I-Chaya’s tail and sprinted after McCoy, barely able to hear anything over a roar of wind that shook the rocks until dust rained down on them.

            Just outside, the sand was whipped up into a frenzy. There was a tornado of grit. It beat against the stone with a powerful sense of rage.

            Bones was wrenching the belt off his suit when Kirk made it to him. Not sure what the point of it was, Kirk copied his motion. The sand started to enter the cave opening and stung the exposed skin of Kirk’s face. He began to choke on it, but managed to keep an eye on McCoy. He copied the doctor further, placing his own belt device in the opposite corner of the opening from where Bones was placing his.

            “Hit the center button when I say so!” McCoy yelled, his voice harsh against the cacophony of the sand. The sound of it hurtling against the place almost drowned McCoy out altogether.

            “Now!”

            They both pressed their respective buttons and a static repulsor field sprang to life between the two tricorder-like machines. It covered the cave opening, causing the sand to howl and crackle against it, but the field held, keeping the sand at bay.  

            McCoy’s relief bubbled out in the form of loud, uncontrolled laughter. He clapped Kirk on the back as the starship captain blinked the sand grains from his eyes and grinned at Bones.

            Together they turned from their makeshift barrier and headed farther into the cave until they came to the place where it widened out. I-Chaya had curled up and his liquid eyes followed their progress lazily. Scotty was leaning against him, dumping sand out of one of his boots.

            “What was that?” Kirk asked, catching his breath finally.

            “That,” Bones replied, “is one of the reasons Vulcan is the dirty sphincter of the godforsaken universe.” He sank down beside Scotty, leaning against the sehlat’s flank as well, closing his eyes. “It’s a storm and a damn doozy of one too, if my readings had anything to say about it. Might as well hunker down here. We’re not going anywhere for a while.”

            “What about the ship?” Scotty piped up. “Won’t it get buried by the sand that’s gettin’ all kicked up?”

            McCoy opened one eye and shrugged. “Maybe,” he answered. “But you go out looking for it now and you’ll get buried just as deep. After the sand blasts the skin from your bones, of course.” He closed his eyes again and settled in before suddenly shooting to attention. “Dammit! Where’s the hobgoblin?” He glowered toward a tunnel that led deep into the rock. “That bastard! He probably found a little hidey hole back there where he’ll sit tight until we leave and then he’ll crawl out like some sand worm and make his way back home to mommy.” He snorted and then whirled on Kirk.

            “This,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at Jim, “all of this bullshit is your fault.” His eyes, the only things exposed from under the hood of his suit, glowed with an abundant rage in the soft light of the cave. The only illumination came from the lights built into the suits themselves and the meager trappings of light that came through the storm and the force field from the Vulcan night. “Go fetch him.”

            Kirk lifted up his hands in surrender. He could still feel the gossamer thread of Spock pulling at his mind, so he didn’t suspect it would be too difficult to follow it to its source. But it did feel a little strange to be taking orders from Bones. And orders given in a less than courteous manner at that. But he didn’t have the energy to argue. Plus, both Bones and Scotty were cuddling up closer to I-Chaya, looking like both were about to indulge in a nap. Which left Kirk in charge of any other task.

            With a resigned shrug, Kirk pulled out the dirty, old phaser from his suit pocket and crept forward into the tunnel, ducking slightly. The walls shook with the force of the storm but appeared solid enough. There wasn’t much worry of any sort of cave in. He wasn’t too worried about Spock either, if he was being honest. He would rather have the Vulcan head for the hills now than end up sold into slavery by Bones.

            The tunnel sloped steadily downward and it was a bit of tight squeeze. Kirk had to stay stooped over and was only able to waddle forward. The lights of his suit washed over the passageway as it got darker the farther he went from the cave mouth.

            He was just about to turn back, ready with some fabricated excuse on his tongue, when he heard the distinct sound of water dripping on stone. His throat instantly reacted, making its dryness intimately known. The feeling spurred him on faster to the source of the noise.

            As he continued his less than graceful walk, the sound increased progressively until the tunnel bowed out, opening into a large cavern. The glow from his suit reflected off a small spring being fed from tiny rivulets that ran along the cavern wall. They dripped steadily, causing the sweet, wet sound that made Kirk long for home and all the water he could ever want.

            He threw off his hood and scampered to the edge of the spring. From up close, it was obvious that it wasn’t much; the deepest part of the spring would probably only reach Kirk’s thighs and he was fairly short all things considered. Another couple of days of high temperatures and the pond would most likely dry up completely.

            The water was cool as he brought it to his lips, drinking deeply out of the cup of his palms. There was none of the plastic tang that accompanied the reconstituted water from the moisture sacks. It was fresh and absolutely stunning.

            A splash caused Kirk to leap to his feet, snatching up the phaser from where he’d set it beside himself on the dry ground. He struggled to see all he could outside of the suit glow, but the darkness was more complete than he had the skill to see through.

            The splashing continued and as Kirk watched, Spock emerged from the gloom, trudging through the water. He had lost all of his clothes and his hair was plastered to his skull, dripping water over the blades of his cheekbones. Even for all that, he still would have looked like the Spock Kirk was used to, if it wasn’t for the massive grin splitting his face.

            He lifted his hand and the fingers were split in the unmistakable sign of the _ta’al._ While Kirk gazed at him, he lifted his hand to his lips and licked a couple streams of water from his fingers. Instantly, a flash of fire alighted across the expanse of Kirk’s groin. He tried to shove it away, but it had already slipped across the tentative link that existed between the Vulcan and himself. Spock’s smile grew.

            “Hello Jim,” he called. Kirk wasn’t sure if he appreciated the sudden easy rapport. “I have found a piece of Shangri-La.”

            “I see that,” Kirk mumbled, still trying to keep any unwanted feelings under control. He crouched and began to drink once more. After a couple more sips, he said, “Bones thought you ran off.”

            Spock raised an eyebrow and continued to wade closer to Kirk. The water licked around his naked legs, lapping his ankles. “I would not leave I-Chaya,” Spock replied coolly. “I heard the water and came here. I figured you round-ears would follow eventually.”

            He sat in the shallows beside Kirk, allowing the water to lap around him. He palmed it and dumped it over his head, shaking out the ebony strands of his hair. Droplets flecked Kirk as he drank and he was reminded that every crevice of his suit was caked in sand and his skin felt rough with grit. Doubtless, both Bones and Scotty were asleep, so he had the time to bathe if he wanted it.

            Mind made up, he got to his feet and peeled off the suit without sparing a glance for Spock. Once nude, he galloped into the spring, whooping happily, before going as deep as he could and plunging in. He dived into the darkness, twisting and turning until he felt slippery, then coming up for air with a loud splash. He flung his hair and it slapped against his head, mostly clear of sand grains.

            Spock hadn’t moved and now watched him with a bemused smirk on his face. It was evident that he didn’t know how to swim, so kept far from the center of the pond, where Kirk was doggy-paddling, despite the fact that his feet could easily touch bottom.

            “This is great,” Kirk hollered. He dove beneath the surface once more. When he came back up, after a long moment where the only sound was Spock washing his hair, he was emerging out of the shallows, dripping wet. “Makes me want to go for a swim in the ship’s pool.”

            “Pool?” Spock asked.

            “Yea,” Kirk said. “It’s just like this, only fake. And deeper. And only for swimming.” He paused. “So not really like this at all. But you get what I’m saying.”

            Shrugging, Spock got to his feet. He was perfectly illuminated by the lights from Jim’s abandoned suit and he had to swallow hard. This Spock was stringier than the one from home, and more malnourished, but there was still some definite power in his muscles. His legs were toned and lean, and his waist was narrow.

            _How can someone so slender have such a defined chest?_ Jim thought, taking in the flesh crisscrossed with dark tattoos. Spock didn’t seem to mind the scrutiny; he grinned and preened under Kirk’s attention.

            Kirk had only seen naked Vulcans in anatomy texts and he hadn’t really spared too much thought on the subject in his Academy classes. He supposed Bones probably had a text or two, but now it seemed foolish to go seeking for diagrams and drawings when the real deal was right in front of him.

            And the real deal was mighty interesting.

            It didn’t appear like Spock had much in the way of a penis. There was a small _something,_ but he wasn’t sure what it was. And there was absolutely no testicles to speak of, but he did remember that from the anatomy lessons. It was too hot a climate on Vulcan for pendulum testicles, so they were inside, up in the lower back. _Chenasi_ or something was the name for them. Kirk shook his head, realizing that the proper Vulcan name for the things wasn’t all that entirely important at the moment.

            In fact, he’d better stop thinking about all of this period. Nothing but bad choices and regret led that way.

            “Let’s get back,” Kirk said, brushing past Spock, determinedly heading for his suit. “Before they start to worry.”

            Spock clutched Jim’s wrist and yanked him back with that damn Vulcan strength before he had gotten too far past him.

            “They will not worry,” he breathed, his voice molten. He smiled ever so slightly, his eyes hooded, pupils so dilated in the darkness that his gaze appeared black. “We can stay here for a while longer.”

            “Whatever you’re trying to do,” Jim growled, gently extracting his arm from Spock’s grip. The Vulcan skin was hot and the touch made the link, which was slowly dissipating, snap and crackle. “It’s not going to happen.”

            Spock remained unfazed by Kirk’s rebuke. He closed his eyes and instantly, the link sizzled. It wrapped around every cell, setting Kirk’s skin on fire. Any of his own thoughts didn’t feel sacred and secret any more. Spock became this presence, more real than even the man standing before him, a pillar of green fire that scorched Kirk’s brain. He felt dizzy and unable to keep his intelligence in check.

            Gasping, Jim staggered, water sloshing around his drunken legs. He fought feebly against the lust that was overtaking him. It vigorously plumbed the depths of his being, overtaking everything with unbridled Vulcan passion.

            Spock had touched the love that Jim had for his First Officer through the meld and had become intoxicated on it. He didn’t possess the mental prowess needed to keep an emotion so strong from affecting him. But he didn’t know what to do with it either. He had to transmutate it into something workable, something understandable. So he fed the flames of the sexual overtones, the only thing he knew how to use.

            It was a purging mechanism of sorts. If he could act it out, he could remove it and cleanse himself of the strength of emotion directed at both himself and someone else all at once. He was a different person from the prim and proper science officer, but there was also something that connected the two of them and made them the same. It left a wondering in the wake of such an epiphany as to whether a person is as unique as they intrinsically believe.

            Kirk cried out and it echoed wetly through the cavern. His muscles were tensed up and his cock was throbbing, thrust out before him, swollen almost immediately by the force of Spock’s single-minded sexual fury.

            Arousal hurtled through his body, awakening every cell as his senses desperately sought out contact. The fight drained out of him when every heartbeat brought nothing but renewed hunger.

            He turned and slammed hard against Spock’s body. The Vulcan’s eyelids pulled up to half-mast and he glowed with raw energy. His hard body pressed against the length of Jim’s, but it still wasn’t close enough to satisfy the urgent need that was overtaking him.

            Kirk yanked on Spock’s chin, bringing their lips together in a crack of teeth. He teased the hot velvet of Spock’s mouth with a demanding tongue, devouring him. Kirk knew he should be fighting against this overwhelming lust, that his mind was stronger than his body, but Spock, in any dimension, would always be his weakness. He was unable to wrench himself from Spock’s embrace. He found himself ceasing the attempt.

            He wrapped his arms around Spock, cupping the Vulcan’s ass to press their hips together. He realized that what he’d been unsure of nestled in the crook of Spock’s thighs had been a sort of genital sheath. From it, stiff and emerald with blood, sprang Spock’s dick. It leaked abundant amounts of pre-cum over its double ridges, beading in its slit.

            “I want you now,” Kirk growled harshly. His passion was all consuming, raging in sheer desperation. He pushed Spock, kicking at him and grinding against him until they made it to the shore of the spring. “Down. Now.”

            Spock did as Jim commanded, slipping fluidly down onto all fours upon the hard rock floor. He lowered himself to his shoulders, presenting his ass like a living sacrifice. His hole was puckered, olive and wet with his arousal, blinking in invitation. Dark tattoos swirled down the rod of his spine, dancing into curves just above the cleft of his ass like arrows to lead any wanderer to the treasure of his pulsing sphincter and tight heat.

            Kirk uttered a low, needy moan. His hair remained plastered to his head from both the water and the sweat that had built up over his scalp. The sound of Spock’s ragged breath fueled his need and seeing Spock, his magnificent, wanton body spread before him, so open and ready, made even more sweat coat his body.

            “So good,” Jim said hotly. “You are so gorgeous.”

            Somewhere, a tiny pinprick in his mind registered that what he was seeing was not really the Vulcan before him, but the one he wished it would be. His mind’s eye erased the tattoos and filled out the malnourished form with more muscles. This was the Spock he wanted: the one he had known for years, had watched from afar, the one he had given more of himself to, even without saying the words he was so desperate to say, than anyone else he knew.

            “Spock,” he whispered.

            He wanted to be gentle their first time. To make love. And not on the hard floor. He frowned, the haze beginning to dispel. If he could just fight a little harder…

            But a renewed wave of stimulation washed through him, seeping into every bone, and he was lost.

            He flung himself at Spock, too far gone to prepare him. If it hadn’t been for Vulcan muscle control and self-lubrication, it would have gone much more horribly than it did. As it was, Kirk simply breeched him with no ceremony, the thick column of his cock pressing deep into the scorching channel of Spock’s body.

            The rhythm he set was relentless. He pounded into Spock, each thrust shoving Spock’s shoulders into the stone floor of the cavern. Kirk grunted as the Vulcan’s body tugged at him, accepting the punishing pace with little more than gasps of something in between pain and pleasure.

            Through the touch of their bodies, Kirk could feel the faint hum of Spock’s mind flitting around the corners of his own. He guessed he was probably washing it in a never ceasing desire and a rage at being manipulated. A sick part of him was enjoying it however, the manipulation had done something in his favor and his body rejoiced in the way Spock’s flesh accepted him.

            Kirk moaned and changed position, jostling Spock over onto his back, lifting one of his legs to wrap around Kirk’s waist. He came in at an angle, now hitting Spock’s prostate with every hard thrust.

            Crying out, Spock arched his back, reaching down to work his own cock at the same pace that Kirk was driving into him. He writhed. Pleasure caused his face to scrunch up and he let loose with a steady stream of curses.

            Until he sensed Kirk’s distaste with him through the wavering link. He then sought out what it was Kirk wanted. Despite himself, he gave it to him.

            He lowered his voice, worked out the accent from it. He had heard what it was supposed to sound like in Jim’s memories and now mimicked it exactly.

            “Captain!” he whimpered. For a moment, Jim stilled in surprise, then drove forward with even more force.

            “Yes!” Spock continued. His tone, his inflection, everything, was perfectly spot on. “I have dreamt of engaging in, uhm yes, coitus with you for a very long time.”

            “Yea?” Kirk said on a groan.

            “Indeed.” Spock could feel Kirk’s imminent orgasm through the link and knew exactly what to say to spur it on. Stoking the fires of his own climax, he shouted with ragged breath, “oh yes! Captain! Fuck me! Oh Captain! Jim! _T’hy’la_!”

            Kirk’s seed pumped white hot into Spock with no preamble. The little death that tore through him seemed to bring only the most shallow of reliefs.

            _I’ve fucked Spock like some common whore._

The shame started its mission to destroy him.

 


	8. Cast out fear. There is no room for anything else until you cast out fear

Despite the fact that most of the biobeds were taken, the medbay was quiet. Those in their beds were sound asleep, their soft breathing and the humming of the numerous pieces of medical technology were the only sound that filtered around the room. The nurses and orderlies, while on call, were off in their own quarters, engaging in some well-earned rest as the ship’s night held vigil over the _Enterprise._ She still drifted lazily in the direction of Starbase 7, a few hours away from docking there.

            McCoy was the only person awake in the medbay. He sat behind his desk, feet propped up on its surface, glancing over the day’s medical reports. A flu was going around and while not too terrible in its symptoms, it was quite contagious and knocked the infected crewmember out for at least a day.  Most of the beds were occupied by those sleeping this disease off. And most of those who had come in complaining about the flu were sporting science blues and worked directly under Spock.

            _The problem is that he’s working them like Tellarite pack cattle,_ McCoy thought, rubbing at his tired eyes. _Their immune systems are shot to hell. Poor kids are just exhausted._

He leaned farther back in his chair, causing it to tip onto two legs. He’d been trying to keep an eye on Spock, but what with the flu and those damn clumsy engineers, he didn’t have the time. Likewise, he didn’t have the time to worry about Jim and Scotty, yet he found himself doing so more and more often.

            They’d been gone for too long. And he’d talked to the doppelgangers in the brig: the dimension they came from wasn’t exactly the most pleasant place to be. Kirk made sure McCoy was aware of the atrocities Vulcans tended to enjoy committing in their world. With hazel eyes shining with more hatred than McCoy had ever seen the Kirk he knew possess, the misplaced clone had explained how a Vulcan in _pon farr_ had raped Gary Mitchell to death, breaking his neck in the heat of the moment and without slowing, continued to pump into the lifeless body.

            It was enough to make Bones feel faintly sick himself.

            And that Scotty… The shrewd way he watched you and didn’t say a word. He always looked like he was contemplating just the right way he’d like to flay you open and watch you squirm. He never said anything to anyone but Kirk and even then he spoke too quietly for anyone else to hear, bending close to Kirk’s ear. Kirk would inevitably smile wickedly in response to whatever Scotty would say and then would chastise him for being crass.

            Bones could not for the life of him figure out why, but that Kirk had somehow managed to charm half the crew as well. Now the security guards stationed to keep an eye on him would play games with him and they would all chat like old pals. This fact made a lot of the senior officers, the only ones who seemed to still be overly concerned with the missing persons, very uneasy. Bones had even overheard Chekov giggling to Sulu that he had gone down to the brig and had beaten Kirk at some sort of Russian card game. Though he had at least had the decency to look guilty about it when he’d glimpsed Bones watching.

            If he was being honest, McCoy had to admit that he was feeling lonely. He considered Jim to be about his only friend and Scotty was one hell of a drinking buddy. But even more than that, Jim was a damn good captain. The _Enterprise_ needed him. Everything seemed to be slowly going to hell without him there.

            The scariest thought that would plague McCoy when he least expected it was that perhaps neither Jim nor Scotty might come back. Jim might be dead, fucked to death by a Vulcan. Scotty might be a husk, dead by dehydration. Or they might just never figure out how to get them back.

            “Dammit,” McCoy growled. He slammed a fist into his desk and a handful of computer wafers clattered to the floor. He growled again wordlessly in frustration. Jim was reckless, careless, and damn annoying half the time, but McCoy missed him with an ache so savage it threatened to bubble over at any moment. There was something about the ship that required a trinity to run it. Standing next to Spock without Jim in the middle felt like trying to ignore the fact that a vital organ was missing out of a body.

            Not to mention, that hobgoblin was insufferable without Jim. He moved about, pining like a lost puppy, lurking in the science labs or on the bridge with a perpetual black cloud hanging around his head. Not that he gave too much away. His facial expressions were just as bland as ever, his words just as emotionless, but there was still an air about him. An aura of unbecoming desperation, longing, and slow-boiling depression. He was definitely feeling the phantom organ if no one else was.

            “Speak of the devil,” McCoy mumbled to himself. The door of the medbay opened and Spock appeared. Rather than engage in his long-legged stride, he lurched into the room, leaning a little too far to one side. He looked positively wretched. His skin was waxy and sallow, paler even than usual. There were large, blackish green bags under his eyes and a dark tinge of sickness to his cheeks. Even in the soft light of the medbay night, his eyes appeared milky. None of the clear focus they usually possessed was in their depths.

            He stumbled over to the nearest trash receptacle and bent over it, dry heaves wracking his body. The fact that he had nothing in his stomach to vomit but couldn’t use his Vulcan voodoo to control his gag reflex was alarming and quite indicative of the fact that he was uncommonly worn out.

            McCoy leapt to his feet and promptly scanned Spock as he continued to pitch himself over the receptacle. Nothing but spittle faintly tinged with stomach acid slipped from his lips.

            When the heaves stopped, he simply clutched the edges of the receptacle, gasping for breath. He looked at McCoy as if he expected the doctor to declare him dead on arrival and hustle him off to the morgue. And he did look like he was halfway in the grave.

            “You are the most pigheaded man I have ever met,” Bones sighed, finishing up his scan and watching the readout for it. “How many days have you exhibited symptoms of the flu? Well, I’ll tell you: three. Three days and you’re only coming to me now. Had you come right away, it wouldn’t have been a big deal at all, ya crazy idiot.” He pushed Spock toward an open biobed more gently than the frustration in his voice would warrant. “You’ve gone and done it now Spock-o. You’ve worried yourself sick.”

            The only thing Spock had the energy to do was to raise an eyebrow halfheartedly.

            Shaking his head, McCoy switched the settings on the bed to Vulcan and then pushed Spock down onto it. His body heat was molten, hotter than Bones had ever felt it. He was no doubt running quite the impressive fever.

            “I assume you haven’t been sleeping,” McCoy said as he prepared a hypo. “Even though I told you to. And your electrolyte levels are telling me that you’re one dehydrated fella. Plus, to top it all off, you’re flirting with anorexia. Which would explain why you’ve got nothing to barf up.” He finished what he was doing and administered the hypo. Spock’s eyes followed him, but they were the only movement Spock offered.

            “You keeling over is not gonna do anybody any good,” McCoy went on. He crossed over to the replicator and used his medical codes on it. In a manner of moments, it produced a glass of specially calibrated water that would buff up the drinker’s electrolytes to full health and a handful of what looked like saltine crackers, but were filled with everything needed to start a malnourished being on the fast track to health. He brought both items over to Spock and glared at him until the Vulcan began to eat and drink.

            After each of the first few bites, Spock paled ever more and sat up straight in the bed, leaning over the side and heaving. Then the hypo kicked in and his color began to return, along with his ability to choke down food without incident.

            “You know, I’m really not too surprised that you’re under the weather,” McCoy said. A part of him was taking a sick satisfaction in the fact that he was in control for once. The loaded silence from Spock was better than any of his usual sassy comebacks. And there was a sort of academic interest in seeing him so weak, when he refused to reveal his mortality on any other occasion. “You’ve sent all your underlings through the ringer as well.” He pulled his chair up to Spock’s bedside and plopped into it. He could feel a lecture welling up in his throat and he had a feeling it was gonna be a damn good one.

            “Doctor,” Spock said, but his voice was a harsh croak. Bones, whose mouth had been open as he wound himself up for the tongue-thrashing of the century, snapped said mouth shut and leaned forward. He watched Spock and waited for him to continue.

            “The Katellians are the only beings who have come up with a working theory of trans-universe travel,” Spock choked out. “However, I cannot make sense of their algorithm. And their society was wiped out 5,000 standard years ago.”

            “That sucks Spock, but you’ve still got to take care of yourself,” McCoy growled. “None of this idiotic bullshit.”

            “I am so close…” Spock trailed off. Those unfocused eyes were eerie. The mixture of the fever and the drugs McCoy had injected him with were beginning to take their toll on Spock. He’d fall asleep in a minute or two, but until then he was disorientated and, for all intents and purposes, intoxicated. “I will solve the… the equation.”

            He yawned.   

            “I don’t doubt you’ll figure it out,” McCoy offered. He watched as the stiff professionalism drained out of Spock, his body going slack on the bed. But his eyes, pupils now dilated, stayed open.

            “May I ask you a question, Doctor?”

            “Sure…” He couldn’t quite keep the hesitation from seeping into his voice.

            “Am I floating?” Spock clutched tightly to the sides of the bed. “The gravity stabilizers appear to have malfunctioned.” He squinted and then added in a tone of nothing more than scientific observation, “my face is numb.”

            “Um,” McCoy started. “I may have overestimated your Vulcan half and given you a little too much…” He watched the bed’s monitors closely, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary other than that there was more drug in Spock’s system than his metabolism could deal with easily. Once he fell asleep he would probably be out for quite some time, but that would be about the extent of it.

            Of course, there was no telling what the Vulcan would say before he cashed out. McCoy had never actually seen him drunk or drugged in a way that would leave him stoned. Whenever Spock had suffered from some sort of intoxicating drug, McCoy had been too busy to observe him. Once with trying to find a cure and also being distracted by a sweaty and shirtless Sulu running around the ship with a sword, and the second time with making mint juleps. So he wasn’t sure if he was eager or terrified to hear the Vulcan’s drugged murmurings.

            Although perhaps he should record them. In case he needed blackmail. Which was highly likely to occur at some time or another.

            Spock squirmed and seeing him fidget was odd enough that Bones almost gasped. Smiling evilly, he was about to give in and audio record on his PADD, when his morality asserted itself, insisting on doctor/patient confidentiality and he sighed. Despite what some of the more easily frightened ensigns said, he was a good guy and even if drunk Spock would shape up to be hilariously strange, he wouldn’t take advantage of him like that. Even if it was his own damn fault that he got so sick in the first place.

            “I have…” Spock said, slurring. He moved his lips as though he had never experienced them before and his tongue lolled in his mouth like it was swollen. “I think… I think I am… I think I am feeling. Feeling. Yes. My face is melting but I am feeling. Why don’t…? Do you understand?”

            “Not really,” McCoy said, smirking. He sat down again and propped his feet up on the side of Spock’s bed. He might as well enjoy it while he could. And with the way Spock’s eyes were drooping, he figured he didn’t have too much time left of consciousness with the Vulcan.

            “Leonard… Leonard… Lenny…. Wait, what? No, listen to my… Listen to me.” Spock lifted a finger and pointed it somewhere a little above McCoy’s shoulder. “Why does he call you ‘Bones’? Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy. Shh. Are we sleeping? My hand… My hand is so fascinating. Have you observed it? Fingers… What?”

            “Go to sleep,” McCoy said, trying not to chuckle. “Sleep and it’ll all make sense again in the morning.”

            “No!” Spock’s voice was so sharp, McCoy jumped, half expecting the other patients in the medbay to wake up at the sudden loud noise. Thankfully, they didn’t. “I can’t. Vulcans do not dream. Yet, I dream… And I feel. Afraid. I feel afraid. He is lost. I feel. Are you frightened, Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy? He loves you. I do not… I do not understand love. I do not – you? Your eyes are too blue and unattractive. His… Oh Surak… His are aesthetically pleasing. His.”

            Spock began squirming again and squeezed his eyes shut. But he was still fighting to stay awake.

            “Do you feel? I do not understand,” Spock continued, his words slurred to such an extent that Bones had to really concentrate to figure out what he was saying. “What is? Ah. _K’el’rular tun-bosh. Va’vuhnaya s’va’terishlar._ I want… I burn for _el’ru’esta._ Doctor, the stars themselves burn, that is a steady fact. _Ex Astris, Scientia._ ” He went quiet then and Bones was sure he finally went to sleep. But then he surged up, reaching his hands desperately into open air.

            “ _Ashaya_!” he gasped. “Fear? Yes! I am scared he is gone! I am scared of this sickness of love! I am scared he does not desire me! I have touched his mind and I have known the savage beauty in the garden… Fever. I am slipping. Dark. So tired. The yearn for _plat-vok_ …” He settled down again and closed his eyes, this time his expression was smooth and soft.

            “I will die,” he whispered, “bondless. My hand, Bones. It is fascinating. So strange.” His breathing slowed and became regular, the tension completely fled his body, and the biobed registered the brainwave patterns of sleep.

            “What the absolute hell was that?” Bones mumbled to himself. Shaking his head, he moved back to his desk and the abandoned PADD, wishing he knew more of the Vulcan language than the scant few phrases he’d picked up over the years.

            Everything that damn Vulcan did was an enigma. He couldn’t act like any of the other flu victims who had simply giggled and commented on the numbness of body parts before instantly nodding off when the drugs hit their system. None of them held out that long or said very much at all. Just a lot of dumb grins and laughing.

            Spock could never do things half-assed, of course, and had to milk out all the drama from the situation he could.

            _God,_ McCoy thought, scrubbing his hand through his hair. _Jim needs to get his ass back here. Before the lot of us goes insane._

He gave a cursory glance over to Spock, his chest rising and falling uniformly. It was hard to believe that Vulcan was so goddamn in love he was on the verge of going crazy over it, if he hadn’t already. He was unused to any sort of severe emotion that he was completely lost to this one. He couldn’t be like any normal person and eat their weight in ice cream or something over this sappy shit.

            McCoy sighed, asking himself for the umpteenth time why he ever thought space would be a good idea.

                            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> k'el'rular tun-bosh: "with careful hands"
> 
> Va'vuhnaya s'Va'Terishlar: IDIC (Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations)
> 
> e'l'ru'esta: "hand embrace"
> 
> plat-vok: bond between mates
> 
> ashaya: beloved
> 
> Ex Astris, Scientia: "from the stars, knowledge". The motto of Starfleet Academy


	9. Spunau bolayalar t’Wehku bolayalar t’Zamu il t’Veh

There were no words and anyway, Kirk didn’t want to talk. He just sat, dressed once more in his suit, with his knees bent to his chin. Spock was floating lazily in the water, a cocky grin on his face.

Such hatred poured through his bloodstream that Kirk felt dizzy with it. He wanted nothing more than for this whole experience, this forage into the most fucked up of universes, to be some sort of sick dream and nothing more. He wanted to wake up safe and sound in the captain’s quarters of the _Enterprise,_ nothing to worry about but whatever their current mission was and how to hide his growing feelings from Spock.

_Oh gods,_ he thought, sighing inwardly. He pursed his lips before he gave in to his habit of chewing on his knuckle. _I’m disgusting. Even if Spock loved me, and let’s face it, that dream is one of my most batshit ones, I don’t deserve him. He’s sweet and innocent and perfect and I’m a gaping wound._

He got to his feet and started toward the tunnel back to the cave mouth. He prayed to any god he could think of that the sandstorm had stopped. Maybe they could get out of this cave and into the desert proper and just leave this Spock behind in the glorified puddle he was so proud of himself for finding.

No such luck, as with the sound of a splash, Jim realized Spock was following him. Spock sprang out of the water and shook himself off, so close Jim became flecked with water. He turned around, glaring menacingly at the Vulcan.

“Oh stop it,” Spock sighed. His naked body glistened in the light of the glow from Kirk’s suit. “I don’t understand you. This condescending air of morality you’ve suddenly put on. I found what was already there and gave it a bit of a nudge.” He grinned then, so unlike the proper Spock. “Let’s be honest here, and I was in your mind so I know. You wanted it.” He paused and that smile grew. “ _Captain_.”

Without thinking, Kirk reeled back and punched Spock in the face, his nose cracking and spewing green blood. Spock stepped back and then lunged forward, catching Kirk around the waist, so they both tumbled to the hard ground.

They wrestled, Kirk’s shoulder throbbing from where he’d hit the rock, and Spock dripping blood on him from his nose. Spock held him down by the wrists, but Kirk surged up and connected his knee hard with Spock’s stomach. The Vulcan gasped, the air knocked from his lungs, and pulled up. His fist connected with Kirk’s jaw so his head whipped and the back of his skull cracked on the stone.

The blow felt like it had come from a sledgehammer. Kirk went limp, dazed. His heart was pounding in his chest, and it sounded loud in his ears, even louder than the pain that stabbed into him.

As soon as he was able, he twisted, slipping around Spock’s grip and kicking out once more. Startled, Spock was almost easy to overcome. Kirk shoved against him and soon flipped him onto his back. He straddled him and slammed his fist into his face again and again. His knuckles split on Spock’s teeth, so red blood mingled with the green that was suddenly everywhere.

It wasn’t long before Kirk’s anger ebbed away and he slowly stopped. Spock’s breathing was labored and wet, each breath popping a bubble of emerald blood in one of his nostrils. One of his eyes was beginning to swell shut and his bottom lip was cracked.

He smiled though and the blood on his teeth made him look like some sort of horrendous creature. Some kind of demon straight out of ancient Earth mythology.

Kirk climbed off of him. His hand and face throbbed, pulsing in pain with every heartbeat. Spock had to have been holding back because there was no way he could have got out of an altercation with a Vulcan this much still intact.

“You disgust me,” Spock said, very quietly. Kirk wheeled back around and the Vulcan had gotten to his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “You are not a man at all, but a glorified ape.” He stalked over to the water’s edge and splashed at his face.

Kirk’s nostrils flared in anger. But he wasn’t sure if he was angrier at Spock or at himself. After all, Spock was right in that it didn’t feel like there was a civilized bone in his body. He had spent the last hour fucking and fighting. Was this all he was capable of? If he didn’t have the rules and regulations of Starfleet to protect him from his own barbarity? To wall him in?

He had seen his animal half. Seen its desperation and lust. He had held it in his arms and heard its racing heart. And his other half, left behind when the vicious parts of his personality had been exorcised, had been so weak. So frail it was as if his skeleton was made of bird’s bones. Perhaps that creature – the soft, kind person with no penchant for command – had simply ceased to be. Perhaps in a fit of cannibal hunger he had destroyed whatever it was in himself that was able to love selflessly and think and feel without bringing in a thirst for gore. Perhaps, he was nothing more than that man who had fought tooth and nail, and who had tried to take advantage of Yeoman Rand. Someone who looked at a person and didn’t see a human being but simply a hunk of meat.

_What’s wrong with me?_ He thought, shaking himself to try and focus. _I can’t give in to this self-depreciating guilt. We’re so close to getting back home. And I am not my own man. I belong to the_ Enterprise. _I am in command._

Swallowing hard, Jim straightened out his suit. While he had been arguing with himself, Spock had moved and was now slipping silently back into his clothes. He had a self-satisfied smirk on his bruised face.

Realization hit Jim like a speeding hovercar. His eyes widened at the sheer power of it.

“You!” he exclaimed, pointing half-crazed at Spock. “You don’t want me to leave! You think you’ll be better off with me here! And you think you can make me stay by trying to convince me that I don’t deserve to go back.” He began to pace, stomping determinedly back and forth. “I’ve only been here for a little over a day and you think you’ve managed to taint me beyond repair.”

“You are so presumptuous,” Spock growled, smoothing out his black shorts. “I think nothing of you. Do you not understand how lowly you are? How fun it would be to break you?” He moved slowly, watching Kirk’s angry pacing with dark eyes.

Before Kirk could respond, they both stiffened at the sound of approaching footsteps. Bones burst into the cavern, phaser at the ready, Scotty right behind him.

“Ah. Yer both still alive,” Scotty said, with a sigh of relief. Kirk took up a post beside him, finding himself maybe foolishly relishing in the familiarity of the Scotsman and the representation he provided of home. “We were scared Spock had tried to kill ye.”

“Nope,” Kirk mumbled. “Still alive and well.”

Spock raised an eyebrow and offered a slight, cocked smile, but remained silent.

“Holy shit!” Bones yelped, racing forward and beginning to gulp down water. He drank sloppily, spilling and splashing more than what got in his mouth. “This tastes like the tears of the gods! Oh man.” He moaned, water dripping down the front of him. “You’ve found heaven. I’d make love to this pool if I could.”

With a little more grace, Scotty walked forward and kneeled beside him, cupping his palms in the liquid and bringing it to his lips. He drank deeply before saying, “aye, it’s good. But scotch it still better.”

Kirk grinned until he felt a twinge across the link as Spock glared at him. The grin immediately disappeared and he wheeled around to glower back, trying to concentrate on keeping the Vulcan out of his head. The link was already weakening, burned out by a sense of mutual hatred and Kirk continually shoving against it. So long as Spock didn’t touch him and reinstate his power, the link was bound to fizzle out entirely.

“The storm,” Kirk asked, addressing Bones and Scotty, “did it stop?”

“Aye,” Scotty answered. “But the sun is beginnin’ to come up, so it’s going to start being even more swelterin’.”

“Well then. We’d better get going,” Kirk said. He clapped his hands together, but the other men only began to move reluctantly. Bones started to fill the sacks in his suit with as much water as they would hold and Scotty gulped down handful after handful before straightening up and patting the sand off his knees.

Spock however, didn’t move at all. Kirk could see the green blood flecked across Spock’s chest and face, drying into flakes now. His left eye socket was completely swollen. It seemed that Scotty and Bones had mutually decided not to comment on his appearance.

“Fuck you,” Spock said, very coolly. There was no inflection in his voice. “You think everything can just go back to normal? You think repercussions don’t exist? You ripped a hole in space-time. You shouldn’t be allowed to go back.”

“You know, I’m getting real tired of your shit, pointy,” McCoy growled. He attached the last full water bag to his suit and fingered the handle of his phaser menacingly. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe it was _you_ what spurred us on in this. _You_ willing to go on this quest for love of all the godforsaken things. Your little 180 here isn’t cute. Neither is that attitude.”

“Oh please,” Spock snapped. “You do not frighten me, _doctor_.” The last word was spat out. “Nor do I need to justify my actions to the likes of you.”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Kirk cut in, holding up his hands. “We can –ˮ

He was interrupted when Spock suddenly lunged, slamming into him. His head cracked on the cave floor, causing his vision to blur and a huge wave of dizziness and pain to crash over him. Spock’s nails dug into Kirk’s arms and he latched his teeth into the skin of Kirk’s cheek.

The ozone snap and fizzle of phaser fire rent the air and Spock instantly went limp, slumping down and pinning Kirk beneath him. Kirk’s cheek felt raw and he knew blood was pouring out of the wound there. With every heartbeat, more pain shot up through the back of his skull, making him feel like nothing more than pulverized hamburger.

“Damn Vulcan scum,” he heard Bones mumble, but it sounded like he was speaking underwater. “They’re all savages. Should’ve laid this one out the moment we saw him.”

Spock’s unconscious form was rolled off and Jim could finally take a deep breath again. McCoy was kneeling beside him, his medical scanner, much more filthy and beat-up in this dimension, whirring in his hand. His grumpily concerned face swam in and out of focus.

“Well,” McCoy said after a moment, “the bite’s not too deep, but it’s liable to get an infection. Heaven only knows where that mouth’s been.” Something cold was pressed against Jim’s cheek and the pain gradually began to relent.

“Thanks, Bones.” His voice was barely over a croak. He sat up weakly, clutching at his head as the world spun around him. When it finally righted itself, he tried to smile reassuringly at Scotty, who appeared as though he had had more than he could handle of this dimension.

“What,” Kirk began, getting to his feet with deliberate care, “was that?”

“In my most humble medical opinion,” Bones replied, “I’d have to say withdrawals.” He started to pace, obviously anxious to leave.

“From what?” Kirk asked. He felt like he was suffering from the effects of acute whiplash. The paradox that was Spock was leaving him more and more confused. Not to mention, sickened and physically ill.

“Emotion.” McCoy stopped pacing and scrubbed at the scruffle on his chin. “He lost his mate bond, so he’s not a repository for her emotions anymore. Everything now probably seems dull and muted. So he looks for a fix wherever he can find it: fear, lust, pain, anger. Whatever. He’s a damn junkie right now. We should really lose him. Hand him over to someone with the knowhow to break him. Cause he’s nothing more than sadism and masochism rolled up in a burrito of sexual perversity.”

“I still don’t really get it,” Kirk admitted. He looked down at Spock, his hair disheveled. “Vulcans are nothing like this where we come from.”

Bones snorted. “A Vulcan’s a Vulcan, no matter where you are. They are a volatile race. Their emotions are more than any mortal man can handle. A quiet Vulcan is the most dangerous. If he’s got that shit storm under control, he’s stronger yet than anything known to man.” He joined Kirk, gazing down at Spock. “Their little holy prophet, Surak, he was like that. Calm as could be. Apathetic to the extreme when he ordered the mass genocide of twenty Romulan colonies on Vulcan’s surface.”

“Surak?”

“Did I stutter?”

“No, I suppose not.” Kirk shook his head. Whatever McCoy had slathered onto his cheek had done its magic: his pain had disappeared, leaving only the heavy weight of his exhaustion in its stead. “Let’s get out of here.”


	10. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few… or the one

Starbase 7 was a virtual rest stop, lurking in the deeper bowels of space. Only half of it was zoned to Starfleet. The other half was filled with civilian businesses. Situated as it was between Alpha Centauri and Sol, it served as the intermediary checkpoint for most interstellar travelers. It also tended to be the place where ships that had suffered some sort of blow went to be debriefed and handled before they were most likely sent on to Starfleet Headquarters on Earth.

The _Enterprise_ arrived while Spock was still sick in the medbay. He’d been there much longer than any of the others brought down by the flu, drifting deep in his own consciousness as he invoked the healing trance.

Sulu approached the sickbay hesitantly, Chekov on his heels, half-hiding behind him. Neither was able to see through the good doctor’s grumpiness like Kirk or Scotty could and therefore, didn’t look forward to entering his domain. Not to mention, Spock had been becoming more and more terrifying with every passing day that Kirk was gone. There was a unanimous shipwide consensus that Captain Kirk had better show up or everything would, in a manner of speaking, go to shit.

Taking a deep breath, Sulu stepped forward so the door of the medbay would swoosh open. Since Chekov and Sulu had just gone off bridge shift, they’d been voted to be the messengers. Chekov’s lower rank also didn’t help; he tended to get shafted with the short end of the stick more often than the other core members of the bridge crew.

“Hello Hikaru, Pavel,” Nurse Chapel greeted, smiling sweetly. “Another fencing accident?”

“Nah,” Sulu replied. “We’re actually looking for Spock.” Chekov slipped closer behind Sulu as McCoy stepped in from the back room. “We’re orbiting the starbase, waiting on orders to dock. And it’ll only be a minute or two before Admiral Choi starts hailing us.”

“Sorry,” McCoy grumbled, not in the least bit actually sounding sorry. “You can’t talk to Spock. He’s recovering.”

“But…” Sulu started. The look from Bones swiftly cut him off. Chapel moved and put a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. His glower softened ever so slightly, but was far from disappearing completely.

“He needs his rest,” McCoy continued, albeit gentler now. “Lieutenant Commander Brady is more than capable of figuring out docking orders and babysitting admirals without the hobgoblin.” He shrugged out of Chapel’s touch and bounced once before crossing his arms over his chest. “Spock’s sleeping.”

“On the contrary, Doctor, I am now awake.”

They all turned to where Spock stood in the entryway of the far room, the sickbay coverall hanging off his thin frame shapelessly. His cheeks were still flushed slightly, but the relaxation seemed to have cleared up the unnatural shininess his eyes had had.

McCoy whirled on him, his tone shooting back down into his gruff, irritated tenor.

“Mister Spock,” he yelped, “you get back into bed this instant or so help me…”

“Doctor,” Spock interrupted stoically, “I find your request illogical as I do not require more rest at this time and am needed elsewhere.”

“Damn you,” McCoy mumbled under his breath. Louder, he said, “now listen here: I’m Chief Medical Officer of this ship and I don’t believe you’re medically fit to leave my sickbay.” He turned to Sulu and Chekov. “So you two run on back where you came from. And you,” he turned back to Spock, “go. To. Bed.”

“I must disagree with your order, Doctor McCoy,” Spock said. The most infuriating thing about it was how polite he sounded. Sulu and Chekov had started inching toward the door, but stopped then in rapt attention. “I took the liberty of checking my own vital signs and they are well within the range conductive for work. I assure you, I am most fit.”

The communication panel on the wall whistled for attention. Before anyone else could move, Chekov scampered over to it, answering the summons with a breathless greeting.

“I have a message from Starfleet for Mr. Spock,” Uhura said, her voice tinny through the panel.

“He is vight here,” Chekov said. “Though the doctor says he is ill.”

Spock strode forward and maneuvered Chekov from the panel in such a way that the Russian never quite realized he was being manhandled.

“Spock here, Lieutenant,” he said smoothly. “Please relay the message.”

“Aye sir,” Uhura responded. “It says simply that they’ve traced the quantum fluctuations recorded in the _Enterprise_ ’s computer banks and have begun heartily working on their theory of transdimensional travel. Admiral Choi and Doctor Khat’lar’vok await you on the starbase for a debriefing and your thoughts on the theory.” She paused. “We have also received our docking orders.”

Despite his best efforts to suppress it, there was a faint quickening to the heart in Spock’s side. He knew Khat’lar’vok as the leading scientist in the field of diluminum quantum mechanics. He had long desired a conversation with the Andorian, especially about her dissertation on the event horizon of the universe itself. But now he wished only to speak of travel between parallel universes.

“Very well,” he said, wincing internally at the slight edge of excitement in his voice. It didn’t quite matter that no one could pick up on it. He knew the captain would have been able to, had he been there. “Follow the docking protocol. Spock out.” He decompressed the panel’s button. “Ensign Chekov, please come with me to the transporter room. Lt. Sulu, you may return to your duties.”

“Now wait just a damn minute!” McCoy thundered. He stomped over to his desk, producing a medkit from one of the drawers and starting to stuff it with hypos from the ship’s proverbial medicine cabinet. “You’re still my patient, so if you’re going anywhere, I’m going with you. And I’m bringing enough drugs to knock out a full grown Blepsa beast from Kriton, so don’t cross me.”

“Very well,” Spock relented, knowing full well that if he didn’t consent, the doctor would do something foolishly human. “You may join the initial party to the starbase. And though I shall endeavor not to meet one, if Starbase 7 boasts a Blepsa beast, I shall submit to your good judgment on its removal.” Spock turned and, followed closely by Chekov, headed toward the turbolift.

“Smartass,” Bones muttered to himself. In a questionable imitation, he continued, “ʽWhat you have termed “sass”, doctor, is not an emotion.’ Ha! And chickens have lips!” He shouldered the medkit and followed after the other two men, leaving Sulu and Chapel, both grinning at the other, in his wake.

Beneath the veneer of his irritation, McCoy was actually quite pleased. Spock had not graced his ears with that dry, non-humorous Vulcan humor in quite some time. Not since the whole Kirk fiasco started. It meant that the hobgoblin must be in a better mood. And even if McCoy didn’t think he was as up to snuff as Spock thought of himself, he wasn’t about to deny Spock this. He could remember the words Spock’s feverish mind had produced and the anxiety that came bubbling up when Spock’s defenses had crumbled.

Bones never claimed to know much about Vulcans. They were just a people that he couldn’t really get. Humans were fine, and hell, even Klingons were easy to pin down. But Vulcans were like a race of princesses all locked up in their ivory towers. For every question they answered, a thousand more went unaddressed. And even those answers they did send down were jumbled up riddles by the time they made it down to the lowly folks milling about beneath the towers.

So no, Bones probably knew more about physics than he did about the inner lives of Vulcans. But he had always been perceptive when it came to emotions and he wasn’t an idiot. In his weird, alien way, Spock was head over heels for James T. Kirk. And secretly, McCoy was something of a romantic. If there was going to be a reunion, he expected flowers and fireworks and lovelight streaming from the Vulcan’s eyes and he wouldn’t miss that disgusting, mushy scene for all the Saurian brandy in the universe.

Therefore, he would let Spock run off like a happy puppy to the starbase. Regardless of the fact that he really should be in bed. McCoy would keep an eye on him. Plus, he himself was excited at the potential to see Jim again.

He made it to the transporter room after Spock and Chekov were already there, Spock now dressed in his typical uniform. They were flanked by a haphazard grouping of science officers on the transporter pads and Ensign Kyle stood at the ready before the controls. Chekov looked a little lost in that sea of blue, but for whatever reason, Spock had taken a shining to him and everyone was sure that he was being groomed to be the next Chief Science Officer once Spock packed up.

McCoy bounded onto the last open pad and bounced on his heels. No matter how many times he’d been subjected to it, he still did not enjoy having his atoms ripped apart and then smashed back together again. It was obviously not natural in the slightest.

“Energize,” Spock said.

The controls chimed as Kyle manipulated them. And the party dematerialized in galaxies of buzzing, glittering light. They coalesced once more in the transporter bay of Starbase 7. The admiral stood before them.

She was human, her hair pulled up into a no-nonsense bun, but she smiled warmly at the _Enterprise_ crew. When she saw Spock, she offered up the Ta’al. He returned the hand gesture.

“Greetings, Admiral,” he said, his voice clipped and professional. The rest of the party trickled off the transporter pads and bunched up around him. “Commander Spock of the _U.S.S. Enterprise_.”

“Hello, Mr. Spock,” Admiral Choi replied. “And party.” She smiled at the men and women around him. “Welcome to Starbase 7. Dr. Khat’lar’vok is anxious to see you. She believes she may have found a solution to your problem.” Not one to waste time on pleasantries, Choi turned and walked across the transporter bay toward the starbase’s turbolift. The _Enterprise_ crew fell into step behind her.

“Vhat is Dr. Khat’lar’vok’s hypothesis?” Chekov asked, eager to distinguish himself. He felt a little overwhelmed in the high-ceilinged starbase bay. There were beings milling about, and they all seemed content to ignore the newcomers. And though Choi seemed amicable enough, she gave off an undeniably commanding air. She hadn’t gotten to the station of admiral by pure chance.

“It’s beyond me,” Choi answered with a laugh. They all entered into the lift and she stood beside Chekov, watching him with her pretty, almond shaped eyes. She keyed in the coordinates for the lift before continuing. “I was never a physicist myself. There was some quote from the 21st century that only two people on Earth could understand string theory. There’s more than that in the universe now, but I’m not one of those lucky humanoids. And string theory isn’t even the most complicated idea of physics anymore.”

“Ah, woman after me own heart,” McCoy said. He was wedged between Spock and Ensign Johnson, toying with his medical kit while smiling flirtatiously at the admiral.

The turbolift arrived at its destination before anyone could say anything more. They spilled out into the science wing of the Starfleet owned decks of the starbase. The doors to myriad labs lined the hallway, interspersed with communication panels. What looked like a metallic trashcan on wheels rolled up to them creakily, gears whirring inside it as one bulbous, robotic eye spun up to inspect them.

“I am assistant number 642,” it said with a voice even more constricted and inhuman than that of the _Enterprise_ ’s computers. “You are,” it paused and a faint crunching sound accompanied its information processing, “Jennifer Choi, S’chn T’gai Spock, Leonard McCoy, Matthew Johnson, Ste—ˮ      

“That’ll do,” Choi cut in. “Please lead us to the lab where Khat’lar’vok is located.”

The robot’s gears grinded loudly again. Its eye spun messily for a moment and it shook ever so slightly, tiny bits of rust raining down on the starbase’s metal floor. “This way,” it finally said, before rolling off down the hall. Choi, Spock, and McCoy followed close behind it as the rest of the team spread out. They’d already been briefed on their parts to play and at the moment they were more or less unneeded.

The robot trilled and clanked as it led them forward, clearly an outdated model. The sleeker starbases, the ones that had ambassadors and diplomats to impress, spent many more credits on maintenance than those out in the boondocks of space or working, as 7 was, primarily for the average citizen.

In a few moments, they stopped in front of a lab door, as Admiral Choi punched in a command code. A lever extended from the robot and slipped into the control panel of the door, sending the files of all present into the base’s central system while simultaneously confirming the admiral’s authority in accessing the floor’s labs. The added security was needed due to the clandestine activities frequenters of starbases tended to get into it. It didn’t sit well allowing them free reign in laboratories full of potentially dangerous chemicals and algorithms and viruses.

It took a moment longer of computer processing before the door swished open. The lab was richly outfitted, demonstrably bigger than any on the _Enterprise_. As Starfleet’s flagship, the _Enterprise_ ’s facilities wanted for close to nothing, but it was still a ship. Anything base or planet side would obviously be better equipped, and have better access to the constantly changing landscape of discovery.

Khat’lar’vok disentangled herself from a pile of tubing and straightened up, smiling deviously at the group. Her blue skin shone with vibrant health even as it was smudged with grease. Her white hair was cut short and her antennae sprouted crookedly from it.

“Greetings!” she said, her voice holding none of the severity typical of the academic, nor any of the lisp of a warrior-class Andorian. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to talk shop, eh?”

“Dr. Khat’lar’vok,” Spock started.

“Oh, please call me Prue,” she cut in. “You’re Spock right? Tell me: what are your thoughts on the work the Vulcan Science Academy had been doing on quark manipulation in quantum fire-branding?”

“The hypothesis with which they are working is inherently flawed. Logic dictates –ˮ

McCoy cleared his throat loudly, drowning out anything more Spock had planned to say. Prue rounded on him, taking in the medical kit in a swift perusal.

“Ah, Doctor,” she chirped, “are you well read on topics of xenobiology? I was just scanning a study in my spare time on the genital dimorphism in Hortas. Fascinating stuff. But, good doctor, you must have a thought on it?”   

“Xenobiology is decidedly not the doctor’s area of expertise,” Spock said. “But I do believe he can offer anecdotes on the effect of alcohol on human decision-making faculties.”

McCoy glared savagely at the Vulcan, as though a look alone could render Spock devoid of his vocal cords.

“Perhaps this conversation could be saved for another time?” Choi suggested. “I believe Mr. Spock would like to have an explanation of your transdimensional travel theory, Dr. Khat’lar’vok.”

“Of course! Forgive me, it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to converse with well-educated humanoids,” Prue said. She moved toward a computer terminal. “It’s just been me and a plethora of robots around here.” She flicked her wrist and systems booted up, displaying a vast network of mathematical formulas in 3D space. “Here it is. I’ve already had a couple engineers build me up a prototype matter converger, much like a transporter. I’ve taken to calling it a temporal transporter.”

Spock strode forward fluidly and began inspecting the glowing formulas. Every once in a while, he would manipulate the information with a slender, Vulcan finger. “Fascinating,” he offered, an eyebrow sliding up toward his bangs. “Your idea was to influence space-time into Planck length, creating quantum foam, and then send the dismembered matter from a transporter through the wormhole system that foam creates.”

“What?” McCoy said, looking as if Spock had suggested that the best way to get Kirk and Scotty back was to strip naked and dance.

Prue, on the other hand, beamed. “Oh finally!” she breathed. “Someone who speaks Standard. Do you know how hard it is to explain yourself to the common engineer? Felt like I was speaking Klingon or something.” She sidled up close to Spock and pointed at a system of equations. “See that? That’s the key. Where you –ˮ

“ – artificially create decoherence between vibratory wavelengths of the parallel universes,” Spock said.

“I like you,” Prue replied. She turned to Choi. “I like this one. Can I keep him?” She laughed, then turned back to the Vulcan. “Exactly. Now, my problem is here.” She pointed out another point in the network. “I plug in Planck length and this here gives me trouble. _That_ necessitates the gravitational constant, but then _this_ gets screwed up.”

“1.7826 x 10483,” Spock replied after a moment.

“Well… That’s stupid,” Prue argued, frowning. “What are you? An idiot?”

Bones guffawed loudly. He suspected that the two scientists had forgotten he and Choi were even there. But he didn’t much mind. Whatever they were saying sounded like complete gibberish anyway.

“On the contrary,” Spock said, unfazed. “But changing _that_ to 1.7826 x 10 483 requires that you change _this_ ,” he manipulated the formula to curve toward another point in its vast network, “to 83.7π.”

Prue narrowed her eyes. For a moment she was completely immobile, her gaze fixed on the massive output of mathematics before her. A slow smile spread across her features. “Why Mr. Spock,” she began, “I’d say you were a knight in shining armor, but your tamperings would cause an explosion unless you update this denominator here accordingly. Of course, if your plan is to bring your captain back as bloody, chunky human salsa, then that’s your priority.”

“I assure you, that was not my intention,” Spock replied coolly. He watched Prue make the final adjustments without a change in his expression. McCoy appeared delighted that Spock had made a mistake and Prue had called him out on it. Too often the Vulcan was the smartest person in the room; it was about time someone gave him a run for his money.

With a loud clatter, one of the robots received the new input from Prue’s computer. It would link to the base-wide computer system and make the information widely known as it slithered into the base’s library. Prue tapped the head of the unit with a blue finger; much like someone not accustomed to animals would pet a dog.

“Alright,” she said. Without any further delay, she skipped across the vast lab to what looked like a transporter pad. With more grace, Spock followed her. Bones and Choi stood back, rather flummoxed by the lightning fast way the scientists moved from one task to another. The lack of explanation of any task was a little disheartening, but, mistake or no, McCoy trusted Spock more than he did anyone else in the whole universe when it came to all this physics mumbo jumbo. The error probably only came about from the residual effects of the flu anyway.

Palming his medkit, McCoy took a quick sample, scanning the area. From his distance, he picked up both Prue and Spock, but both checked out normal for their respective races. Not that either of them were beings McCoy would be quick to label “normal”, but there it was all the same. If anything, Spock was registering with a slightly higher body temperature and heart rate than usual, which meant that, despite not at all looking like it, he was excited.

McCoy smiled to himself.

“So, I’ve uploaded the formula from our little friend here,” Prue was saying as McCoy tuned back in. The rusty old robot was just disengaging itself from the control panel of the transporter device as Prue spoke. “We’re aiming for a specific universe, which means we’re targeting a specific wormhole in the quantum foam. I calculated which one we want based on the information you gathered with your ship’s computers, Spock. The wormhole will come within our range in exactly 34.27 standard minutes. If we miss that window, the next wormhole that lines up to the universe we want won’t come around for another 378.32 standard days.”

“What?” McCoy balked. He was glad he’d been listening to that bit. “How long is this wormhole you’re shooting for open?”

“1.09 minutes, Doctor,” Prue said. “Plenty of time to transport your captain and engineer through.”

“But not enough time to test the blasted thing first!” Bones exclaimed. He looked over at Choi, knowing her word was the final say on any decision, but her face was unreadable. “Jim’s a pretty tough guy but I don’t think even he can survive being made into salsa.”

“Astute observation,” Spock said drily. “However, both myself and Dr. Khat’lar’vok have determined that the system is now operable. Therefore, your emotional outburst is unwarranted as the probability of success is 87.13%”

“And that’s supposed to be comforting?!” McCoy replied with a huff. “I won’t stop being emotional until you have a 100% chance!”

“Doctor,” Spock practically sighed. He stood beside Prue with his hands clasped behind his back. “When faced with the unknown, an 100% probability is impossible. A high percentage is thus desirable. We possess such a high percentage. So there is no need for worry.” He then smoothly removed the communicator from his belt, flipping it open in one quick motion. “Spock to _Enterprise_. Prepare a security team to escort James Kirk and Montgomery Scott from the brig to Starbase 7. Prepare for beam down. Spock out.”

McCoy seethed but was silent. Grinning slightly, Admiral Choi put her hand on his shoulder. “It’s not like you have much of a choice,” she said quietly. Spock and Prue had their heads fairly close together and were bent over the transporter controls. They were efficiently ignoring the other two. “I think it’d be better to try this than to wait over a year. Who knows what kind of trouble Kirk is in already? The last thing he and Mr. Scott need is more time in that universe. You do understand?”

“Of course,” Bones grumbled.

“You’ll have to forgive Dr. Khat’lar’vok,” Choi continued. “She’s a bit hungry for the Cochrane Award for Physics and coming up with a working transdimensional device will definitely put her in the running for one.”

Not exactly put at ease, Bones nonetheless remained silent. He inclined his head infinitesimally, but it prompted a cheeky grin from the admiral. She appeared much more at ease with the way things were moving now: into the realm of action and diplomacy rather than that of theories and untranslatable physics. Even in her days on a starship, she had never been in the sciences. She had been a simple helmsman before she moved up the ranks to captain and then from there to admiral.

Spock’s communicator chirruped. When he answered it, Ensign Kyle responded that the party was about to be beamed down. Spock agreed and almost instantly, the air of the lab took on the heavy, charged feeling as misplaced mass began to coalesce in it. In a starburst of fractured light, the rough and bellicose versions of Kirk and Scotty materialized along with a contingent of security officers. They kept their phasers trained on the two dimensional aliens.

Kirk grinned. Though it had the same sort of shape, it wasn’t the same smile as the usual captain’s. Something about the smile was off. It didn’t quite _feel_ right. Which was an illogical thing to base any thought on, but Spock was drawn into that illogic just as surely as the humans around him were.

“Hey baby,” Kirk said. He addressed Spock, turning the beam of his grin on the Vulcan. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t visit… That cell you locked me in got pretty lonely. And then out of the blue, you demand our lovely presence here. What’s going on?”

“We’re sending you back,” McCoy answered smugly before Spock could respond. Though he wasn’t as adept at reading the Vulcan as Jim was, Bones could tell that the “baby” comment and easy way Kirk spoke, as if they shared a sexual rapport, had baffled Spock. There was a tiny, almost unnoticeable, green tinge to his eartips.

Kirk’s confident swagger buckled ever so slightly. But his smirk never wavered. “Oh?” he said. He nudged Scotty with his elbow. “We’re going home, are we?”

It seemed as though no one wished to reply to him anymore. Prue and Spock had wandered back over to the control panel of the transporter device as Bones and Choi put their heads together to figure out the best way to proceed. The security guards were the largest, most stoic on the ship, so they stood easily silent.  

The grin was finally chased from Kirk’s face. He looked furious and twitched, antsy. He started to pace, forcing the guards to keep watch on him.

Silently, Scotty began to adjust his uniform as Kirk paced farther away from him. In a movement no one was paying attention to, Scotty snapped up, multiple blades flashing from his fingers and expertly lodging one deep into every guard’s throat. The wounds sputtered, blood welling over the guards’ skin and bubbling in their nostrils, the handles of the _Enterprise_ ’s eating utensils sticking out of their jugulars.

Scotty must have pocketed a knife from nearly every meal they’d had aboard the ship, as those who’d brought them food had been distracted by Kirk’s antics. Playing games with them, joking with them, the captain’s doppelganger had even managed to lull them into a false sense of security, convincing them he was someone to be trusted.

Before anyone else had any chance to react, Kirk and Scotty had collected up all the phasers from the fallen guards, switching them to the kill setting and pointing them at the remaining people.

Choi began to charge forward but Kirk trained the business end of his phaser at her heart. “Tsk tsk,” he said, grinning even more wickedly than he had before. “I don’t have a beef with you, lady. So don’t get yourself killed doing something stupid.”

The admiral bristled at the rough treatment, but McCoy held her back from charging again. Gesturing with his phaser, Kirk herded the two of them toward Prue and Spock until all four stood in a clump in front of the control panel. McCoy wanted to see if he could do something for the security officers, but even from far away he could tell that they were all dead, flopped as they were in pools of their own blood.

“Alright?” Kirk said. “So here’s the plan: you’re going to give Mr. Scott and me a shuttle and let us leave unmolested from this godforsaken starbase or you’ll be getting to know the mortician on an intimate basis. Capeche?”

“Fuck you,” McCoy growled.

“That can be arranged,” Kirk replied. “But unfortunately, I’ve got places to be.” He kicked Spock’s boot. “Please be a doll and call for a shuttle.”

Spock moved slowly and deliberately, watching the two antagonists, toward the clanky robotic unit where it sat idle a few feet away. He crouched beside it, about to start punching in a command code when he realized that Kirk had kneeled beside him, his lips against Spock’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Spock didn’t react. “If you saw what it was like there, you wouldn’t want to go back either.”

“You would rather condemn another man to the fate you were destined for,” Spock said quietly, calmly. He began to finger the controls of the robot. “I have no sympathy for you. I do not accept your apology.”

The room was deadly silent for a long time; the only sound was the whirring mechanics of the lab.

Slowly, Spock became aware that Kirk had shifted slightly. The phaser tip caressed Spock’s lower back above his clothes, slipping down between the crevice of his buttocks.

“I could kill you in the most indecent way, pointy-eared fuck,” Kirk murmured. His free hand skimmed over Spock’s knuckles, guiding his movements. “But I don’t really want to. I’m not a bad guy, despite what you might think of me. Neither is Scotty. We’re both desperate men. And desperate men do things we don’t want to do. I’ve never shed a tear for a Vulcan and I don’t plan on doing it now. I’m not a murderer, but I’ll squash a bug when I see one.” He paused. “And those eyebrows of yours mark you as one of the slimiest cockroaches in the galaxy.” He withdrew marginally, the hard phaser moving away from Spock.

Spock bent back to his task. He had memorized all the codes starbase units used to prepare shuttles, among a myriad other commands, but he doubted anyone else in the room knew them without consulting a directory. Knowing the code commands would take a lot of the work out of mucking with voice confirmation.

With his voice pitched loud enough for everyone to hear, but in a demure, emotionless tone, Spock said simply, “Vulcan panties.”

Instantly, McCoy yelped and leapt on top of both Prue and Choi, knocking them to the floor beneath him. Spock punched one last number into the unit and dove to the side, shielding his head.

“Wha –?” Kirk started. Scotty had fired his phaser but the beam had swept over the mass of limbs that was the doctor, the physicist, and Admiral Choi. If Scotty was planning to fire again, he didn’t get the chance. The robot Spock had been tinkering with suddenly exploded, rusty metal plates and gears slamming into both Kirk and Scotty. The force tossed them against the far wall.

Bits rained down on Spock and the others as well, but most of the onslaught caught Scotty and Kirk.

When the debris settled, Prue shook off some of the bolts and sat up, her antennae even more crooked than they’d been, made that way from her impact with the floor. “Good ole self-destruct!” she said happily. She pursed her lips then. “ʽVulcan panties’?”

“One of Jim’s codes,” McCoy grumbled, getting shakily to his feet. He reached to help either Choi or Prue, but they had both gotten up by themselves, Choi’s black hair stained gray by the dust. “It’s a long story. He just felt like it would be a good idea to come up with some codes no one would guess in case of ‘unforeseen circumstances’. Kind of like his nonsense code, ‘fizzbin’. Anyway, is everyone ok?”

The two women nodded. From a pile of robot parts, through which a swath of science blues could be glimpsed, came Spock’s unmistakable, “Affirmative.”

The door to the lab burst open and Chekov rushed in, followed by the rest of the landing party and a handful of starbase attendants.

“Vhat happened?” Chekov asked shrilly, looking at the carnage around him. “We heard an explosion.” He glanced at the way Kirk and Scotty were sprawled unconscious, one of Kirk’s arms twisted out at an unnatural angle and a gash bleeding steadily on Scotty’s forehead. He then watched as Spock slowly and calculatingly dug himself out of his pile of robot parts.

“We’ll brief you on it later,” Choi replied. “Right now we’ve got to get these two on the transporter and out of my hair.”

 


	11. Nam-tor wak vah yut s’vesht na’fa’wak heh pla’rak

There didn’t seem to be any difference from one swath of sand to the next by Kirk’s observation. But McCoy trudged forward, choosing different paths through the grit seemingly at random. Scotty, McCoy, and Kirk were walking, sand spraying up in clouds with every shuffle of their boots. The hoods of their suits were on, covering their mouths and noses and making it harder than necessary to breathe. Sweat pooled and was swallowed up almost instantly by the suits.

I-Chaya lumbered along a few paces behind them, bleating apathetically as a complaint for his hunger. Jim’s stomach growled as well and he realized that he hadn’t eaten anything since showing up in this dimension. He had no idea what people even ate here. They’d yet to pass any plant life or seen any movement that indicated fauna. The sehlat appeared to be the only living animal for miles.

As Bones moved steadily forward, he grumbled low to himself. The little Kirk could make out indicated that the doctor was cursing his foul luck and the entire race of Vulcans as well, plus the planet’s constantly shifting sand. Scotty hung back slightly to readjust the straps keeping an unconscious Spock from falling off I-Chaya’s back. Kirk slowed until he was keeping pace with Scotty once more.

“What do you think he’ll do once we find the _Enterprise_?” Kirk asked, gesturing sharply toward Bones.

“I’m not sure that’s even where he’s takin’ us,” Scotty replied quietly. “It seems like everything has just been too easy. I smell a rat.”

_Easy?_ Kirk balked. He’d had to deal with multiple Vulcan mind-rapes, physical scuffles, and sandstorms. Plus, his back was really starting to ache.

He opened his mouth to voice these objections, but then shut it right away. In the grand scheme of things, Scotty _was_ right. McCoy, who seemed to be more motivated by profit than anything else, was transporting them out of what resembled the goodness of his heart. Spock had been more of a problem and he’d seen directly into Kirk’s mind. What was McCoy’s angle in all this?

Kirk glanced up at the doctor. His skin was sallow and hung off his bones in such a way that the moisture-locking suit wasn’t able to be nearly as skintight on him as it was on Scotty or Kirk. His wrinkles were deep trenches for sand, making him look much older than he was. Only his eyes, still a cornsilk blue that reminded Jim of the sky of an Iowa summer, remained the same as they would look in the proper universe.

“But what would he want with us? I mean, where would be take us?” Kirk continued. “I’m pretty sure we’re not any sort of noblemen like Spock, so I highly doubt there’s anyone waiting with a high enough ransom to interest the good doctor.”

“Aye,” Scotty said. “But amongst Uhura’s babblin’ I heard a mighty interesting tidbit of information: Vulcan is the center of a rather large, booming slave business. Spock’s family probably made their wealth off the skin trade.”

“We’re a couple of malnourished humans,” Kirk said as his stomach growled loudly, “and as far as I can tell, Vulcans are the most sought after. And there are plenty of other humanoids stronger, smarter, and better equipped for manual labor than you or I. So I don’t think he’d fetch enough credits off of us to make this worth his time.”

Scotty nodded, but didn’t look completely convinced. Kirk knew that, save for himself, Scotty was McCoy’s closet friend. It must not sit too well with him either to suspect the doctor or to see him as such a worn down, greedy scavenger and not the quick-witted, Southern drinking partner everyone knew and loved.

Abruptly, Bones stopped, skidding to a halt in a wash of sand. He waited for Scotty, Kirk, and I-Chaya to catch up with him.

“We’re here,” he said as soon as they did.

Kirk bristled, seeing nothing but miles of dunes in every direction. Far to the left there was a handful of rock formations and further still, nothing but a blob on the horizon, was what had to be a city. Nothing natural could create the thin spirals that cut into the red sky as if prodding at the twin suns.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “There’s nothing here.”

“I know,” McCoy groaned. His eyes were squinty with agitation. “That sandstorm wasn’t to our benefit like I had hoped.” He shuffled his feet, dislodging granules until gray metal began to be revealed. “Your garbage scow got even more buried.”

“We can unbury it then,” Kirk said before Scotty could react to an insult toward the _Enterprise_. “It can’t be too deep.”

McCoy looked as though Jim had sprouted another head.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded shrilly. “That ship is massive and completely engulfed under heaven only knows how many tons of sand! And you honestly think three human men and a sehlat can dig it out? No equipment, no nothing?”

“We just need to unearth an entry hatch,” Jim said. He fell to his knees and started scooping sand away from the place McCoy had already been messing with. “Then we can go in and find our way to the transporter room.”

Even behind the hood, it was obvious that McCoy’s mouth hung open. “That ship was in bad straits. The hull probably caved in where it could and where it couldn’t, everything will be filled with sand. Even if you could find an entrance, there’s no way you can get in. Not unless you can burrow through the sand like some sort of Vulcan desert worm.” He paused, throwing his hands up. “Face it. You’re fucked. Royally. And you wasted a shit ton of my time and my water.”

He moved then, standing between the other men and I-Chaya. “Now, Jim has saved me from certain peril more times than I care to remember. So I would love to trade you useless slobs for him and rescue him from whatever shit universe you come from. And I tried. Did more for him than I’ve done for anyone else. But there’s not too much more I can do about it.” He pulled out his phaser and trained it first on Kirk and then Scotty, sweeping it back and forth between them.

“So this is what’s gonna happen now,” he continued, not looking all too happy to be holding his weapon. “I’m gonna take the Vulcan and the sehlat and get out of here. I’ll be nice and leave you your suits and maybe you can make it to the city over there. I wouldn’t count on it, but maybe it’ll happen.” He shrugged. “Or you could stay here and try to unbury your ship. Or you could even wander off into the deep desert. To be honest, I don’t give a flying fuck what you do. But don’t follow me, or I will kill you.” He punctuated his pronouncement by shimmying up I-Chaya’s side, shoving Spock over so he lolled slightly.

“Try not to judge me too harshly.” He kicked I-Chaya’s side brutally and the creature took off like a rocket back the way they’d come.

Without a word, Kirk returned to his digging, feeling desperation weigh heavy on him, like his limbs were pushing against a wall of molasses. And, indeed, that’s what it felt like he was digging against. More sand quickly filled up any hole he managed to dig.

Scotty crouched beside him. “Cap’n,” he started, placing a hand on Kirk’s shoulder. Jim shrugged him off.

“This is all my fault,” he mumbled. “I was just so desperate for things to work out and it just makes me more and more naïve. Half the missions we’ve completed I’ve only gotten through by sheer, dumb luck.”

“Hey now,” Scotty said. “This is no time for your sickening self-pity. That’s not the James Kirk I know. When the odds are stacked against him, that’s when he come out guns a blazin’. We’ll get through this on more than just Lady Luck. Yer in yer element now.”

Kirk stopped his frenzied digging and sat back, gazing around Scotty as though he wasn’t there, watching the shimmer of heat in the air above the dunes. He was quiet for a long while before he spoke again.

“The pity _is_ rather disgusting,” he agreed softly, running a hand up under his hood to mess around with his hair. “We’ve been through worse than this and here I am, breaking down like a kid. It must be the heat and the hunger and the… frustration. I have no idea how we’re going to get out of this without the _Enterprise_.”

“Good thing we’re not alone then.”

“Were you not listening? Bones left us. It’s just you and me. I think that constitutes ‘alone’.”

“What about Spock?”

“Now I know you’ve had heat stroke or something… A. Spock is unconscious. B. Spock is with Bones. And C. Spock is insane. I don’t even know how to describe what it felt like to have him in my head. Or clawing at me like some beast. I’ve seen a lot of shit out here in uncharted space, but that messed me up more than anything else.”

“Cap’n,” Scotty broke in with an exasperated sigh. “I’m aware of the, er, problems with this dimension’s version of the hobgoblin. I was talkin’ about the other Spock, sir. There’s two sides to this coin and if I know that Vulcan, Cap’n, he’ll be doing all he can to figure out how to fix this problem.”

Slowly, Kirk smiled. He knew Scotty was right. And they’d only been here for little less than two days. He just had to give Spock and the _Enterprise_ more time. But he hated being useless. He was not the kind of man to sit around and wait for other people to figure out his problems for him. He would feel stagnant.

“You’re right. As per usual, Scotty,” Kirk said, grinning at him. He knew the smile wasn’t quite as sincere as he wanted it to be, but Scotty failed to notice anything unusual and grinned back. “But I can’t sit here and do nothing. I –ˮ

He paused as he felt his fingertips begin to tingle. Then all of his far extremities began to feel prickly. It swiftly spread up his limbs. By the stricken expression on Scotty’s face, it appeared he was suffering from the same odd symptoms.

Kirk tried to get up, but his legs had now gone completely numb. He soon felt a tugging pulling at him, much like the sensation of the transporter, but more dense. He started to feel squeezed, like his molecules were being pressed tighter together rather than broken apart like they would be in a transporter beam. Then he was stretched, as if his body didn’t exist anymore. He began to be yanked and slipped forward limply like the long, overly slimy Ferengi noodle he’d had to try at a diplomatic meal.

The sands of Vulcan disappeared around him and he realized he couldn’t see anything at all. His eyeballs were stretched out, longer than his entire body had been before.

Without any warning, his elongated, taffy-like self constricted, tightening back up, filling him out to healthy, three dimensional bulk once more. In another few seconds that felt timeless, feeling returned to his body and he was able to open his eyes.

He sat in some sort of metallic chamber, Scotty beside him, crouching in the same pose he was in right before whatever had happened. Their suits had disappeared to be replaced by the slick, black, off-duty uniforms of Starfleet. There was nothing else of note in the chamber. Kirk got to his feet and instantly regretted it. His stomach churned as his body moved more quickly than he had meant it to. The gravity had lightened up considerably and the constant pressure on his skull that he’d gotten used to was suddenly gone. He breathed deeply a few times and the dizziness faded away. Scotty straightened up next to him.

The metallic walls of the chamber began to clank and wheeze as they folded up into each other, inch by inch, revealing a typical Federation laboratory, but much too big to be on a starship. The closest thing to Kirk and Scotty’s chamber was a computer terminal where a spritely Andorian woman stood, fiddling with the controls that had opened the chamber and looking very pleased with herself.

Beside her, Kirk recognized Admiral Choi from when he’d met her briefly at some Starfleet function or other. Beside her he recognized a contingent from the _Enterprise_ : Ensigns Johnson, Kimanski, Fleet, and Tlexnor, and Lieutenants Phoenix and Summers. Chekov suddenly appeared among them, bouncing up to the Andorian, but focusing on Kirk and Scotty.

“Keptin!” he said happily. “Mr. Scott!”

“Chekov,” Kirk replied hesitantly. Though he knew most everyone in the room, he didn’t know where the room _was_. Or how he’d gotten there. He stepped forward, a little wobbly on his feet, and suddenly spotted Bones, looking much more clean and proper in his medical blues than he had on the sands of Vulcan. The doctor strode toward him.

“How are you feeling, Jim? Scotty?” McCoy asked, whipping out his medkit. The diagnostic tool began to whir as he took it in hand and began to investigate both men with it.   

“I’ve seen better days,” Kirk said. “But I think I’m alright. Got a nasty bite from a Vulcan on my face, but I think the other Bones patched it up pretty well.” He smiled.

“Aye,” Scotty agreed. “I’m just glad to be back home. This is home right?”

“Starbase 7,” McCoy said, addressing his scanner as he watched the readouts. “But close enough. Welcome back, Scotty and Jim.”

Without a word, Scotty enveloped Bones in a hug. “Oy, if I’m not glad to be back,” he said as Bones struggled feebly to get away. “I’m sure I’ll end up finding sand in places it shouldn’t be for a long time now.”

Kirk stepped off the platform of the transdimensional transporter and strode up to Admiral Choi. He greeted her with a reverent nod and she smiled, replying in kind.

“I’m glad to see you safe and sound, Captain,” she said. “We had a bit of a problem with your counterparts before you came. Kirk’s arm got broken and we weren’t sure what that would do to you. So I’m glad to see that you’re here and all intact.”

“I’m glad to _be_ intact,” Kirk replied, smiling his typical charming grin. “But how?”

“You can thank Dr. Khat’lar’vok for that,” Choi answered, gesturing to the Andorian. Prue was too busy tinkering with the console in front of her to look up. But she waved a hand limply. Her excitement was only for the success of her experiment. She didn’t seem all that anxious to hear anyone’s thoughts on it.

“You can direct all your thanks to Mr. Spock,” she said. “I don’t have the time for them. I’ve got a Cochrane Award to procure.” She pointed and Kirk spun to follow the direction of her blue finger.

Despite himself, his breath caught in his throat. Spock stood, back ramrod straight, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable, just the same as always. He was dressed in his typical, clean, unrumpled science blues. His hair was short and chin clean-shaven. And there were no tattoos anywhere on him.

“Spock,” Jim said quietly. He felt unnamable emotion pour out into that single utterance. So much raw sensuality was rolling off him that everyone seemed to suddenly get busy with some mundane task that required all of the person’s concentration. Nothing existed in the room but the distance between the two of them.

Crazily, it was Spock that stepped forward first, breaking the hush that had begun to swirl around them. Kirk beamed so broadly he could feel the muscles in his face going sore as he closed the distance, clasping Spock’s shoulders. He was about to pull the Vulcan even closer, but   
Spock fought against him, keeping his last few precious inches to himself.

The air was heavy with unspoken purpose. Kirk’s heart was racing and he could tell that Spock’s gaze wasn’t as clear and lucid as it usually was. The Vulcan’s thoughts must not have been as explicit as he would have liked them to be, and he was being crowded by an influx of emotion that left him shame ridden and confused.

Spock had never been in love before. He didn’t know what to expect with it. The insanity, so pure and undiluted, of it was unbearable. There was a warmth that started where his heart pounded in his side and fanned out through his entire body, pooling in his gut and groin. He was one big swell of heated blood, stiffening his body and clouding his judgment. It felt as if the fever he had just shaken off was coming back and only a look from Jim, the real, proper, infinitely lovely Jim, and a brief touch from his strong, masculine hands could bring such a disease.

What built like torture in Spock felt easy to Kirk. He knew there was some connection between them, primal enough to extend through universes. How else had Spock been able to bring him back at just the moment when hopelessness was threatening him? It seemed too powerful and too ironic to be a coincidence. Spock was able to make everything turn out right. He could create the perfect end out of any means available.

Kirk’s stomach growled loudly enough that no one in the room was able to ignore it.

“You are hungry,” Spock said. If the words were pregnant with hidden meaning, no one could decipher them. “You and Mr. Scott must require rest after having been on Vulcan for twelve standard days.”

“Twelve?” Kirk said. “It was barely even two!” But no one appeared to be listening to him anymore.

He allowed himself to be swept up in the tide of the _Enterprise_ crew as they made their exodus from the laboratory. Most of the ensigns were clustered around Scotty, listening raptly to his overly dramatic retelling of the events of their time in the parallel universe. In the crush of bodies, Kirk was separated from Spock and found himself next to Bones instead.

“I guess you were outside of normal time as well,” the doctor said with a shrug, supposing that was the end of that particular conversation. Kirk fell into step beside him and it was like putting on a favorite pair of slippers, walking beside him again. “What was it like there, Jim? Your counterparts were rather uncouth but not as ruthless as those from the Mirror Universe, I’d say…”

Kirk grinned evilly. “I got that,” he said, “after _your_ counterpart tried to sleep with me.”

Bones bristled, his cheeks turning red. “Well, _yours_ tried to sleep with _everyone_.” The group piled into the turbolift. “Spock had to knock him out when he came at the hobgoblin with his pants around his knees.”

It was Kirk’s turn to blush. His thoughts flashed briefly to his own encounter with the vulgar doppelganger of Spock. He still felt used and unclean after that Vulcan’s touch. He wanted nothing more than to be able to put all of it behind him.

The turbolift opened on the starbase’s galley for Starfleet officers. The base had countless civilian restaurants to choose from, but all were notorious for swindling the credits out of anyone not acquainted with the prices of alien cuisine. Sure, it was probably better than the reconstituted food stock the galley provided but one didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth and turn down free food.  

The _Enterprise_ officers spread out, making themselves at home as they began what would inevitably be a fleeting shore leave. Kirk watched them mingle with the officers assigned to the starbase. They had none of the energy and eagerness, nor the fascination with their surroundings that the _Enterprise_ crew had, so it wasn’t too hard to tell them apart from Kirk’s own officers.

Kirk and McCoy collected up meals from the replicator and found an empty table. Bone-deep weariness was beginning to settle over Jim and he positively sank into his chair before rousing himself sufficiently to ravage his chicken sandwich. All the while, McCoy filled him in on what had happened: how the new Kirk and Scotty acted, their final fisticuffs that ended in the exploding starbase unit, the fever that had steadily moved through the crew and made sure McCoy didn’t have any time to himself. The latter pronouncement was sprinkled liberally with good-natured curses and complaints. The familiar drawl was soothing as Kirk’s eyelids became leaden and he swallowed the last bites of his meal, sinking deep into his chair.

“And then Spock, lovesick tribble that he is,” McCoy was saying. Kirk snapped back to attention. “He about worked himself to death, the idiot. Just had to get you back. And then he didn’t even have the decency to make a scene in the lab. He just stood there like a lug. I had credits riding on this. Uhura just became one rich lady.”

“Bones,” Kirk said, leaning forward, his elbows on the table before him. He paused to yawn. “What do you mean? About Spock?”

“I mean that it’s about damn time the two of you figure out what everybody else knew a long time ago,” McCoy replied, rolling his eyes. “Talk to him. And don’t be a coward about it. Don’t let him shy away either, just because it’s emotional and messy. He likes everything all organized and impassive just ‘cause he’s reticent. Well, he should have thought of that before he hitched a ride on a ship full of humans and now got himself head over heels for one.”

“Bones, I don’t –ˮ

“You can really be thickskulled sometimes, James Kirk, but as far as I can tell, you’re no idiot.” McCoy pursed his lips, evidently done talking. He had just spotted Spock crossing the room toward their table and was not about to miss any of the drama that may happen.

“Captain,” Spock said indifferently when he reached them. “Doctor.” He stood stiffly, his arms akimbo in the pose he adopted only when he was confused and had been thinking deeply. Though he didn’t let much emotion show in his expression, words, or voice, he still had tells and Kirk was sure that even if he had all of eternity to do it, he still wouldn’t be able to completely decipher them all. He smiled as he felt a wave of love and desire wash over him. He didn’t think he could take any more of the detached professionalism and buddy relationship between him and Spock. He knew what he wanted and, if Bones was right in what he kept hinting at but didn’t outright say, Spock seemed to want the same thing.

But, perhaps foolishly, Kirk was still scared. He had never been so frightened of rejection before. He had always been able to fight his way out of any uncomfortable situation he found himself in, but his heart was putty and he always fell hard and fast. And with Spock, that was no different. In fact, it was worse. The way his heart pounded and his palms sweated made him feel like an inexperienced teenager once more. And with the reckless way he needed Spock, it was delicious agony to even look at him and to keep seeing tiny nuances in the way Spock behaved, in the way Spock _was,_ that made Kirk love him all the more.

“I have finished making the final computations on Dr. Khat’lar’vok’s device,” Spock continued. “The experiment should be able to be replicated, should Starfleet desire to explore a parallel dimension.”

“That’s neat, Spock.” Kirk said. McCoy’s eyes whipped from one to the other like he was watching a particularly fascinating game of tennis. Kirk yawned suddenly, a loud, drowsy grumble. “Whoops. Ha. Forgive me.” He smiled sheepishly.

“Shall I escort you to your room?” Spock asked. He had already begun to gather up the captain’s dishes, but Kirk swatted his help away.

“I’ve got that, Mr. Spock,” he said, “but I’ll take you up on that offer.” He got to his feet, dishes in hand. “Lead on.”

“Sly bastard,” Bones mumbled, but there was a definite twinkle in his eye and curve to his lips.

Kirk clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, following after Spock. He tried to keep his wandering thoughts in check as adrenaline started to drown his system. He hoped he was walking normally. In his anxiety, it felt as though his limbs were being dragged behind the rest of him by a few seconds.

There was no telling what was going to happen. But _something_ definitely was, Kirk knew. They had crossed a threshold in their relationship and were now thrust into unknown territory.  This mission, this trip to another universe, had done something to the easy rapport between him and the Vulcan. Now he could feel a hunger in each and every cell of his being for Spock.

“Admiral Choi made sure your accommodations on the starbase would be most comfortable,” Spock said after Kirk had dumped his tray and they’d headed toward the turbolift. Jim’s throat went dry as he thought about being in such close quarters with Spock that the lift would provide. How many innumerable times had he been practically compromised in the _Enterprise_ ’s turbolift? His mind would be absorbed with thoughts of claiming, of owning, the Vulcan flesh standing beside him a hair’s breadth away, rattling out figures on whatever was pertinent to the mission at hand. Yet the words would fall on deaf ears as Jim would be too busy concentrating on how he could get away with touching Spock and make it look like an accident.

He had never waited so long for someone before. He had never spent so many nights tossing and turning, fretting over his own feelings. Then along came Spock, who could play Kirk as effortlessly as he could that Vulcan lyre of his. But he managed it without even trying, or even seeming to know that he could control Kirk with such ease.

When the lift doors opened, Kirk couldn’t even think of anything to say. Mutely, he followed Spock, feeling more like a walking plank of wood than a living being. Spock expertly manipulated the lift’s controls and they moved up onto the deck set aside for rooms that would house high-ranking officials. Choi had indeed been very generous with where she placed the captain; protocol would still have been satisfied if she had simply made him return to his quarters on the _Enterprise_ as it floated in docking on the starbase. Or, Choi could have put him on the lower decks with the plebeians, which was where McCoy was, Jim knew.

Luckily, the trip to the deck was short and they were soon standing in front of the door to the rooms Choi had designated for Kirk’s use. The door scanned him, and finding everything in order, opened with a quiet hiss.

The room inside was spacious and open, dominated by a large, ornate bed. The far wall was made up entirely of a clear aluminum window that looked out into the vast recesses of space. Kirk always enjoyed such a view. Despite being in space for years already, he still preferred to glimpse the myriad stars, twinkling gorgeously day and night to any planet side view.

Whistling softly at the obvious luxury of the room, Kirk stepped inside. He only turned around when he realized that Spock wasn’t following him.   

“Good night, Captain,” the Vulcan said. His eyes were on the bed and his eartips were turning green. “I am sure I shall see you at the briefing tomorrow…” He moved to leave but Kirk caught his arm.

“Spock,” he said, his voice sounding thick to his own ears. He could hardly think over the nervousness fluttering in his gut. “Why don’t you come in for a bit?” Spock visibly gulped, which made a grin spread on Kirk’s face. Spock slowly nodded assent, allowing himself to be tugged by Jim out of the hallway. The door closed behind him. “Do you want some tea?”

“No thank you.”

Kirk had never heard Spock sound so unsure. The Vulcan walked forward and perched on the edge of the bed when he realized that there was nowhere else to sit. Kirk paced in front of him.

“So this whole thing had been kind of weird, huh?” he said. “I mean, when we ended up in the Mirror Universe, it seemed so much more simple for some reason. This time around, it’s been really complicated…” He paused. “Thanks, by the way. For, well, rescuing me, I guess. Like a damsel in distress.” He chuckled and stopped pacing inches from Spock’s knees. Spock’s gaze fell somewhere to the left of Jim’s face. “I do mean it though. Without you, I don’t know what would have happened. You made it just in the knick of time. Like you always do.” He beamed, feeling a tenderness toward Spock that went well beyond the bounds of mere friendship. “Thank you.”

Spock opened his mouth and then quickly shut it. Whatever he was going to say was replaced by a hesitantly mumbled, “you’re welcome.”

Kirk sat beside him on the bed. Their thighs brushed and he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck raise with the electricity of the touch. He picked up Spock’s closest hand in both of his own and cradled it in his lap. Spock’s breathing hitched.

“I was talking with Bones,” Kirk began. He drew up short when Spock’s posture went rigid. “Are you alright?”

“I…” Spock trailed off. He took a deep breath. “I am not proficient at things of this nature…”

_Things?_ Kirk thought. _What happened to his penchant for speaking precisely?_

“You must understand,” Spock continued, looking down at their twined fingers. “I am Vulcan. I am not like you.” He went silent, though Kirk was sure he had meant to say more.

Jim slowly caressed one of Spock’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb. Spock’s hand was so much warmer than his own and it reminded him instinctually of the dry heat of Vulcan. The planet truly was beautiful, even as it was simultaneously hostile. He couldn’t help but liken the skittish way Spock was holding himself to the windswept desert sands and the way they felt unreachable even as one was walking in them.

“My counterpart tried to seduce you,” Kirk said, not sure why exactly he wanted to talk about it, but knowing that he did. Looking at Spock now, holding that warm hand, made him feel ashamed anew for his actions before. He couldn’t even explain to himself how he’d been so easily ensnared by Spock’s tattooed twin. His mind had been so easily inveigled and turned over to the control of the other.

“Yes,” Spock agreed quietly. “He wished to convince me to let him stay in this dimension.”

“But, you were able to resist him?” Kirk spoke haltingly.

Spock nodded. He lifted his eyes from their hands to Jim’s face. “It was… difficult,” he confessed, and color rose in his cheeks, turning them olive. The air sparked between them, feeling hotter than the desert Kirk had just recently been contemplating. “I was… tempted.”

Kirk met Spock’s stare, biting his lip against the raw hunger that had ridden up inside him. With a herculean effort, he tamped it down.

“Spock,” he said, cursing the morality that compelled him to say what he was about to. “We both know that you’re so much stronger than me. You’re smarter and braver and, heaven knows, infinitely more clever. And,” he swallowed, “you are so beautiful.” Spock raised an eyebrow at the compliments. “While I’m a weak man. I just don’t have the strength that you have.” He absentmindedly began stroking Spock’s hand once more.

“I,” he closed his eyes, steeling himself up. “I slept with your double.”

Spock didn’t reply, but his hand clenched in Kirk’s grip.

Opening his eyes, Jim went on, “I know there’s no excuse, but we had mindmelded before and he was doing something to my mind and I tried, Spock, I really did.” He disentangled himself reluctantly, letting go of Spock and putting some distance between them. “But I’ve wanted you so badly and for such a long time. I understand if you don’t want to see me again, though. It was a shitty, fucked up thing that I did and I’m sorry, Spock. You have no idea how sorry I am. It was a mistake. But it was my own.”

“Captain –ˮ Spock stopped. He studied Kirk in silence. “Jim.” His voice was softer. He lifted a hand and his fingertips grazed over Kirk’s cheekbones before tracing the line of his jaw. “I wish to make love to you.”

Jim uttered a warm, husky chuckle. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

“No.”

Spock leaned forward and crushed his lips against Jim’s. Arousal pounded thick and hot between them as Kirk circled Spock’s shoulders with his hands. He couldn’t believe that this was happening. If it wasn’t for the unbearably real torridity of Spock’s mouth and silky lips against his own, he would have thought he was dreaming.

“I have wanted you,” Spock said, his words intermixed with nipping kisses on Jim’s jaw and neck, his breath labored, “since the first moment I saw you.”

The words slammed into Kirk, fueling his passion. He groaned, a need so strong consuming his senses. The reverence that dripped from those words had made him shiver.

He shoved Spock until he fell against the bed, then Jim climbed on top of him, straddling his narrow waist. He dipped his head and claimed Spock’s mouth once again, breathlessly deepening the kiss. He coaxed Spock’s lips farther apart with his tongue and plunged it into the hot depths of Spock’s mouth, thrusting his tongue in and out in an obscene mimicry of sex.

Kirk savored the sweetness of the taste. More exotic and carnal than anything he had ever had before. Nothing mattered to him beyond the pleasure of touching this man that he had so desperately craved for so long. A wicked place had opened up inside him. Uncharted, untamed, bursting with a savage sense of love and lust, all inspired by no one but Spock.

Very few times had Kirk been with men. Fewer times than that had he been with an alien man. But Spock’s searing touch quickly erased and outstripped any passion he had ever felt for anyone else.

He caught Spock’s bottom lip and tugged it, swiping his tongue over it. Spock arched his back and scraped his nails over Kirk’s arms.

Pulling back, Jim broke the kiss, dragging his shirt up and over his head. He then bent and took possession of Spock’s lips once more. The Vulcan’s hands slipped lower than they had been, slow with uncertainty. Whatever confidence he’d had seemed to have begun to evaporate.

“I have not,” Spock started, murmuring against Jim’s lips, “been with another being in such a way –ˮ

Kirk wiggled, fitting himself snugly against the thickness of Spock’s erection as it strained in his pants. Kirk moved, rubbing the clothed hardness with the apex of his thighs nonchalantly. Spock gasped and then looked appalled that he had let such a reaction escape him.

“I don’t care how experienced or inexperienced you are,” Kirk growled. “And don’t hold back on me. I want you to be able to lose control with me. Be as loud as you want.”

Without waiting for a response, Kirk descended again, reaching between their bodies to unfasten Spock’s pants. He could feel Spock’s heart pounding against his palm when he clasped the top of the pants at Spock’s hip. He got up then, putting a little bit of space between them.

Jim sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off his boots and peeling off his socks. Spock did the same, albeit much more deliberately, with the sleek grace he always moved with. His pants were around his thighs where Kirk had abandoned them, so he rid himself completely of them. His strong legs, pale and long, were bared in the light of the stars from the window.

Kirk sucked in a breath, an unquenchable thirst rising in him. Spock’s Starfleet issued briefs were tight around his erection, a small stain of moisture at the tip. And Kirk had never seen anything so wondrous in his life. Spock twisted self-consciously in the heat of Kirk’s perusal.

Unabashedly aroused, Jim worked at his own pants, kicking them off to puddle on the floor. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he breathed. “Even just looking at you. I’ve longed for this moment, for you here.” He reached and cupped the back of Spock’s skull, bringing him forward until the room was full of the wet sound of their lips meeting.

Spock was limp, his hands fluttering, obviously unsure what to do with them. Kirk grabbed one of his wrists and guided Spock’s hand up his inner thigh until Spock’s fingertips grazed over the still clothed, stiff reminder of his eagerness. He writhed at the touch.

“Here?” Spock muttered huskily, then slipped into the briefs, clutching Jim’s cock loosely. Jim moaned and kissed at Spock brutally, tongue diving into Spock’s mouth to search his depths with savagely passionate lickings.

A few tiny movements from Spock’s hand and Kirk’s head was reeling, his pleasure claimed by the Vulcan. He was unable to stop himself and arched into Spock’s touch, relishing the new friction the motion created. His hands scrambled across Spock’s chest and finally managed to rip both the blue outer shirt and inner thermal undershirt up and over Spock’s head, his pristine hair becoming mussed in the process.

The muscles in Spock’s chest rippled, pale and hard, as Kirk’s fingers crisscrossed over them. He moaned into Spock’s mouth when the Vulcan’s finger ghosted over his balls and then finally pulled back the briefs, freeing Kirk’s cock to spring up, hungry for more.

Kirk pushed Spock back down onto the bed, climbing on top of him again. His fingertips traced the edge of Spock’s olive-toned nipples, causing them to pebble at the touch in the furred contours of Spock’s chest. Passion seared Kirk’s body, fiery appetite that would not be denied making his cock throb insistently. A line of his pre-cum smeared against the waistband of Spock’s underwear, already soaking as it was from Spock’s own lust.

Spock raised his hips until Kirk was able to slip the black briefs from his legs and toss them across the room. Unbound, Spock’s thick length thrust into the air, a ropey vein turning the whole thing an eager, dusty emerald.

_Gods above, how beautiful._

Every inch of the Vulcan was enticing, from the heavy-lidded eyes to the strength hidden in the expanse of his gorgeous body. There was a shy twist to Spock’s lips, but that slight evidence of anxiety only made him all the more endearing.

Somehow, this man had taken all of James Kirk. He had bartered his heart and looted his desires. Jim loved him for everything that he was and it was a foolish, radical love that couldn’t be explained. It left him breathless and fervent, keen to give up everything he was for even the briefest taste. He had seen Spock in so many situations; deep space offered more opportunities for stress and pressure against any sort of emerging selfhood than would happen in a lifetime safe and sound on a knowable planet. The undefinable nature of space left large, open gaps in one’s definition of one’s self. Compound that with both the alienness and humanness of Spock and he was just as limitless as the stars themselves.

They were both naked, exposed to the other and the significance of the moment was not lost on Kirk. Spock had never been allowed, or had never allowed himself, to open up. To be vulnerable was anathema to the lessons pounded into him through childhood and adolescence. Through a combination of such lessons learned and his own inability to allow closeness, touching alone was forbidden, gateway as it was for unbidden emotion.

For him to now lay the entire length of his body against Kirk’s was an event weighty with relevance. To admit, through exposing the solid column of his phallus, his own compelling desire was vastly important. And there was something awe-inspiring in this moment. It went above the purely sexual energy that made Kirk shudder and quake, wanting desperately to take everything Spock was willing to give, and then to take more. It went beyond the pure selfishness and need to devour. He had not felt something so intangibly raw before. Not with Carol Marcus or Miramanee or Gary Mitchell. He felt like his skin had been peeled back and what was left beneath glittered, sharp as a razor, poised against his own psyche. Something in his mind toyed at the ruts laid down by the doppelganger Spock, yearning to be completely defeated and claimed.

He always loved recklessly. Hopelessly. Enough so to be frightened of the vibrant colors of the feeling. But he was also unable to want anything else.

And want it he did. He wanted Spock’s love against and despite everything. He wanted Spock and Spock alone. Both his body and his mind cried out for the slap of alien flesh against him.

Jim ran his hands soothingly down Spock’s sides. He leaned forward and captured Spock’s lips once more. His tongue moved over Spock’s mouth with heady slowness, exotic and consuming. He let his hands move over to shamelessly stroke that alien cock. Spock sucked in a hiss of breath and muttered something in Vulcan, the words rumbling down into Kirk’s throat. Spock spread his thighs until Kirk was cradled between them, more skin revealed for him to touch.

Spock reached up his arms and laid his palms on Kirk’s smooth and solid chest. His fingers circled the puckered nipples and then moved without ceasing over the sinewy breadth. His fingertips felt like hungry little mouths, intoxicated by the taste of Jim. He had been starved of touch for so long, the sensations were now driving him wild, making him lose the logic that tethered him to his sanity. His knees shook as he fucked into Jim’s hand, an incredible shiver racing through him over and over again. His eyelids closed tight and he chewed at his bottom lip.

“Spock,” Jim whispered, watching him through the thick shield of his lashes. “You don’t have to fight anymore.” With each word, his voice grew more hoarse. “Baby, please don’t hold back. Don’t be shy.”

“You wish,” Spock said, panting, “for all of me?”

“Yes,” Kirk groaned, his cock straining as Spock’s voice set him even more on fire. “Oh gods yes. I want you everywhere.” He squeezed Spock’s tip, running the pad of his thumb over the slit, dipping into the hot wetness of his eager excitement there.

Spock surged up, rolling Kirk onto his back, pinning him to the bed. His cock jumped with enthusiasm. Warmth skidded along his spine as he gazed up at Spock.

A heartbeat passed, nothing more than a whisper of time, but it felt like forever. Then Spock bent, those familiar brown eyes blown wide with lust, and swallowed Jim’s cock in a swift movement.

At the first flick of his tongue, Kirk exploded. Fire and pleasure worked their way through him, making him toss his head back and shudder. Spock’s mouth was hot, his lips perfection as they closed around Kirk’s rock hard member. He moaned, the sound escaping on ragged catches of breath.

He reached and grasped the sides of Spock’s head, pulling him forward so he could slip more of his cock into his mouth. He grabbed Spock’s ears and teased their tips until, shivering, Spock moved off of Kirk with a wet pop. He gazed up into Kirk’s face, his eyes blazing with passion, bright and crystalline.

“You,” Kirk gasped. He didn’t seem able to say anything more but tried to make his expression show the warring, unnamable emotions that were broiling inside him. He was so hard and his cock was dripping copiously, droplets taking slow courses down his full length.

Spock disentangled himself from Kirk and sat on the other side of the bed, back against the headboard. A confused expression crossed Kirk’s face, but it was soon replaced by a heavy-lidded grin as a husky, dry chuckle escaped him.

Spock had spread his legs and had reached, without the impediment of balls in the way, to his olive-colored hole. Even from his distance, Kirk could see it glisten with the wet elasticity of Vulcan readiness. Spock’s fingers were swallowed by his sphincter and began to probe and stretch the muscle. Spock whimpered ever so slightly.

“Oh yes, “Kirk panted, watching him and languidly stroking his rosy cock. He watched as Spock’s chest heaved and he slipped more and more fingers inside himself. Kirk was about to crawl over to him, no longer able to hold back the longing that pounded up at him from his dick, when Spock rolled forward. Muscles bunching, he knelt and crawled over to and on top of Jim, until the wet helmet of Jim’s cock dragged across Spock’s cleft, teasing at his hole.

They both groaned at the contact, as skin met skin. Spock rocked against Kirk, careful not to let him enter his body.

“Just like that,” Kirk gasped. “Do that again.”

Spock did, gliding back and forth, rubbing Kirk against him. He poised himself so his body just accepted the very tip of Kirk’s penis, his hands spread on Kirk’s chest to keep himself steady.

Spock’s teeth clenched. “Once I take you, you are mine. No other can have you.”

“Yours,” Kirk agreed on a moan. He meant it, the vow feeling right on his tongue.

An almost imperceptible movement and Spock glided down, accepting Jim firmly into his body. Kirk raised his hips, plunging upward.

He cried out at the perfection of it, the exquisite tightness of Spock’s blazing channel. He filled it completely, this untouched place overtaken by his thickness.

“Is it alright?” Kirk asked raggedly. Spock’s slippery juices and tight ring of muscle were tugging phenomenally at him.

“Good,” Spock panted.

He used the strength in his legs and began to ride Kirk, commanding the depth of his penetration, the swiftness of their pace. Passion uncurled between them with his every moment. Kirk allowed the dominance, relishing in it. He watched Spock’s face, green with blood. His lips were parted and his eyes were screwed shut tight. Kirk’s hands slid over Spock’s hips to grasp his ass, jerking him tighter against Kirk. He felt the point of their joining, feeling the friction as it worked through his fingertips. He arched his back and tried to match Spock stroke for stroke. They began moving faster. Faster still.

“Harder, Jim,” Spock whined. He cried out when Jim obeyed and with that sound, so perfect and deep, Kirk felt his balls tighten with an impending orgasm.

Shivering, he ground against Spock as the Vulcan thrust down onto him. Then he reached between their bodies, finding Spock’s length. He milked it, sliding up and down its entirety, toying with the double ridges to the pace Spock was setting.

Spock whimpered and then cried out once more. Jim’s name became a litany on his lips, interspersed with random bits of Vulcan. His inner walls tightened and spasmed around Kirk, making his cock throb.

“Oh fuck oh fuck,” Kirk panted. He felt rather than heard Spock scream. Warm seed splattered onto Kirk’s chest and stomach to compliment the sound. He tossed his head back and orgasm catapulted through his body, Spock’s name ripping from his throat as he continued to stroke the drops of Spock’s climax from him.

When the last pulse subsided, Kirk thrust Spock to his back, collapsing on top of him, a hazy fog wrapped around them both. Kirk’s expression was soft with tenderness and even Spock, whose face was always severe, looked delicate.

The sticky semen began to cool between them.

“Spock,” Kirk said eventually, running his hand over Spock’s chest, parting the dark curls. He took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I’m sorry. For everything I ever put you through. For the waiting. For the dicking around. For the selfishness. I can’t say anything that’s completely definite, but –ˮ

“Shh,” Spock cut in. “I accept your apology. Now is the time for silence.”

Smiling sheepishly, Kirk agreed. He moved closer to Spock, nestling one of his legs between Spock’s warm thighs. The juncture was still damp and reminded Kirk anew of what they had just done, how close they’d truly been. Kirk yawned widely, but felt a sweet sense of excitement flittering around the edges of his sleepiness.

Listening to Spock’s breaths even out, Jim surrendered to the tiredness in his limbs


	12. Time is a path from the past to the future and back again

The steady rhythm of the ship’s engines had always felt like home to Kirk. And deep in the bowels of the ship, on the engineering deck where that hum would dig inside one’s own chest as intimate as a heartbeat, there was little else one could feel. Just something beyond words. A sense of safety no dictionary could capture the meaning of.

Kirk stood in the engine rooms and though he knew it was the _Enterprise_ , something was off. The matter/antimatter chambers were in the wrong place and there was a window that looked out onto the schoolyard of his childhood. He could even see a few of his peers, who were grown and probably far from Riverside Elementary at this point, tumbling and toddling around as though they had never received the news that they were supposed to have grown up.

Knowing that he had an urgent purpose, Jim moved over to the bank of controls. There was a command that he was to type in, but for the life of him, he couldn’t get the controls to work.

“Let me.”

He turned at the voice and recognized the sleek, tattooed Spock, wearing the desert, moisture-locking suit. He was smiling as he reached around Jim, expertly pecking at the buttons.

“You should be in sickbay,” Kirk said. “Bones needed you.”

“But you need me more,” doppelganger Spock replied icily. “I was the catalyst, was I not? Without me, you never would have known what it felt like. You would have continued to be too frightened.”

“Hardly,” Kirk scoffed. He walked over to his command chair, sinking into it. The ship’s heartbeat went on, but he was suddenly on the bridge. Chekov was sitting where Scotty usually did and Uhura was in Sulu’s spot. Three Spocks stood in front of the viewscreen: the scruffy, desert rat, the bearded Mirror self, and the younger Spock, the way he looked when Kirk first inherited the _Enterprise_ and first met him.

“You have to understand,” Mirror Spock was saying, “chess has always been your foreplay. Two kings jostling for survival across three planes, sending out pawns on a conquest of rape.” He suddenly held a knife and licked at the blade of it. “Your words never meant quite what you thought they did. And yet, I expected clear cut sense.”

“You never wanted anything,” Kirk argued. “I hardly even knew you. Your universe was full of galactic scum.”

“Yet, you are the cruel one,” Uhura said from the helm. Her eyes were big and bright and she seemed to sing her words.

“Sail your ship, Captain,” tattooed Spock told him, “by the brightest star you know. Command your desires.”

The deep, bass rumble of the _Enterprise_ filled him, overwhelmed him. There were no thoughts anymore, only questing images he couldn’t make heads nor tails of. In the midst of the vortex, he woke up.

When his eyes adjusted to the dim room, he realized that there were faint glowtubes illumining, creating a light that he hadn’t even noticed the night before. The window was still bright with stars, the light pooling and spreading across the floor.

He rolled, tangling himself in the sheets of the large bed. He felt Spock’s body heat suffused through the entire thing and there was a sheen of sweat over his forehead. But a welling sense of happiness rose up in him.

Grinning sleepily, he gazed over at Spock. The Vulcan was stiff even in sleep; his back was straight and his arms were at his sides. The only indication that he _was_ asleep was the uniform movement of his chest as he breathed, much too regular for him to be awake, and that his eyes were closed. He rested above the blankets so that his whole body was on display.

Sometime during the night he had gotten up and cleaned himself off, unwilling to stay soiled for long. Kirk had taken that opportunity to relieve himself, moving with all the grace of a drunk man to the bathroom. Now, he was loath to get up at all and didn’t want to check the chronometer for fear he wouldn’t like what he’d see.

He didn’t want to leave the bed, scared everything would dissolve away like a dream. The Thing had happened, that which everything in his life had seemed to add up to. He had thought and fantasized and given himself over so many times to this in his mind that it had almost been tangible. Yet having It here, having Spock here beside him right where he seemed to have always belonged, felt so much more right in the reality of it.

Contentment made Kirk feel rubbery. The simple joy he was savoring and the heat of the bed made him feel lazy. But he couldn’t help looking at Spock, drinking him all in. It was better than Saurian brandy or Romulan ale. He loved the way the stars cast their light on Spock’s nude body, making him look all the more pale. He appeared practically carved out of stone. His smooth, muscled arms; dark, curved chest; his narrow waist, and long legs. And that hidden delight, nestled between them, warm in the cradle of his thighs. Kirk was fascinated by it.

He gently crawled over, careful not to wake Spock. While he was not aroused, Spock’s genitals were little more than a mound, covered in dark curls. To Kirk, it looked delicate and feminine. If he hadn’t seen the double-ridged cock that had sprouted from the genital mound, he would have guessed that Spock had a vagina. As it stood, he knew he had to be more observant than that.

Spock’s sheath had a seam down it and Kirk could just glimpse something inside it, sort of glistening, that was no doubt Spock’s penis, dormant now in sleep.

_We’ll have to change that,_ Kirk thought wickedly. He was disinclined to waste any of this time that he had with Spock in idle resting. He no longer felt in the least bit tired.

He lowered himself to his belly and ever so gradually brought himself over to Spock’s sheath. He smelled musky, masculine, and exotic. Something all Spock, but also infinitely carnal.

Kirk made an experimental swipe of his tongue over the seam. Spock made no response save for a very flimsy stirring in his sheath. Using his fingers, Kirk spread it open slightly and then dipped his tongue within the wet heat, making sure to be more deliberate with his probing than before.

A shudder ran up Spock’s body. He made soft, eager sounds. Despite it all, his eyes remained closed and Kirk wasn’t sure if he was awake or not yet.

Jim continued his ministrations, exploring with his tongue. Spock tasted different than either a human man or woman. He was a little more sour, more like wine than salt and spice. Kirk began to zealously investigate him, finding the flaccid skin of his penis, enjoying the sharp taste of it. There was some definite movement under his tongue: the tepid flesh was becoming scorching hot and so much harder.

Spock’s eyelids fluttered and his miniscule noises ceased abruptly.

“Jim?” he said, his voice gravelly from sleep. “Ah. You must stop.” He wiggled, trying to get away, but Kirk’s hands were on his hips and held him down. Jim sucked at the lips of Spock’s sheath as they parted on their own, allowing his cock to fully emerge.

“Good morning, Spock,” Kirk chirped. “Why must I stop?” He kissed the tip of Spock’s dick, then circled it with his lips, not sucking yet, just waiting.

“It is,” Spock said, gulping, “unsanitary and –ˮ

“You sucked my cock last night and it wasn’t too gross for you then,” Kirk hummed around Spock’s length. “I want to return the favor.”

“There is no favor,” Spock said, writhing under Kirk’s touch. “I simply wish for you not to continue.”

“Why?” Kirk insisted. He finally let him go, wrinkling his brow.

“Because, as a Vulcan, my pleasure is secondary. You mustn’t concern yourself with it.”

“Vulcan or no, you’re in my bed so it has become my sacred duty to please you. Besides, I like it. You taste good. And I want you to come in my mouth.”

Spock shivered.

“So don’t look so worried,” Kirk went on. He looked up at Spock, hazel eyes aglow in the low light. He wanted everything that Spock had to give. He wanted to hear him lose himself again, to give himself over. Kirk wanted to be the sole reason the universe would hear this Vulcan crumble apart. “Relax, Spock. Let me take care of you.”

Kirk was sure that Spock was still able to argue, but he didn’t. He knew there was something deep in the Vulcan’s reluctance, something foreign that he would probably never understand. There was a sense of anxiety twisting beneath Spock’s flesh. It was tied to the alienness that Kirk could only glimpse on its surface level, the way it was translated through Spock’s actions, not the subterranean build of his selfhood.

“Let me take care of you,” Jim whispered. He saw Spock’s surrender in the subtle way his limbs relaxed and his legs opened ever so slightly. His cock was nudging wetly against Jim’s chin. He lowered his head and took it into his mouth, sampling the space between Spock’s ridges with his tongue.

Spock’s toes curled and muscles in his thighs began to twitch. He fluttered his hands, uncertain, before running his fingers through Kirk’s hair. His sensitive fingertips came alight at the softness.

Spurred on, Kirk sucked with enthusiasm, moving the warm velvet of his mouth up and down Spock’s length. His tongue followed the green cords of Spock’s veins, then licked over his tip. His lips then circumscribed the helmet, tugging at it as his tongue swiped over Spock’s slit, lapping up the beads of pre-cum that had congealed there.

Spock whimpered quietly. He was obviously trying to keep himself under control, but his body betrayed him as he lifted his hips, plunging deeper into Kirk’s throat.

The cock-head oozed as Kirk accepted the semi-circular moving and thrusting of Spock’s thighs readily. The Vulcan became listless, breathing heavily. He squirmed and then finally, blessedly, began to moan.

Kirk pulled off just long enough to praise him, saying, “Good, baby. You’re so good.” And then he was back, swallowing Spock’s dick down as far as it would go.

At the taste and the sounds that Spock was making, Kirk’s own dick began to throb. He was harder than he could remember being with anyone else and was smearing the sheets with his zeal, even without any touches to his cock. He leisurely rubbed it against the bed as he continued to torture Spock, sucking and swallowing and then just holding still before starting the whole process again.

“Jim,” Spock gasped. He then begged wordlessly, thrusting up, fucking into Kirk’s mouth. The muscles in his legs went taut and something inside his lower back began to spasm. The flood of his hot seed soon filled Kirk’s mouth as Spock’s eyes opened wide and he groaned loudly.

Kirk swallowed it all down, taking every last drop. He massaged Spock’s thighs in gentle circles, before pulling off him. Spock’s dick began to soften, still glistening with Kirk’s saliva.

Spock sighed and sank back into the pillow, boneless. All the energy he’d had was no more, exploded out of him in the unstoppable wave of vibrant emotion and passion of his orgasm. He grabbed Kirk’s face and kissed him, tasting himself on Jim’s lips.

Kirk accepted Spock’s questing tongue and his gut rolled. His erection was now pressed up against Spock and it pulsed, demanding attention. He reached for it, squeezing and stroking in just the way he liked it, perfected through years of his own self-experimentation. In a manner of moments, Spock still kissing him like he was the best being in the universe, he came, splattering both Spock and the bed.

“Sweet heaven,” Kirk said, gasping. He flopped onto his back and traced over Spock’s jawline with his finger. “Mr. Spock, you are perfect.”

“I must disagree, Captain,” Spock replied. “Perfection implies –ˮ

The door chime cut him off. He started, diving gracefully under the blankets to hide his naked, semen-soaked body as Kirk launched himself out of the bed. He found his briefs bunched up on the floor and pulled them on as the chime went off again. Deciding not to bother with any other clothing, he crossed to the door.

When he keyed in its opening sequence, he was greeted by Bones, looking like he had been awake for hours, his uniform straight and hair tamed. Kirk felt shabby in comparison, dressed as he was in only his rumpled briefs, his hair a mess, and still panting from leaping across the room.

“Um, hi, Bones,” he greeted shyly. “What can I do for you?”

“Good afternoon, Jim,” McCoy replied. He grinned evilly and tried to look past Kirk into the room. His eyes light up when he took in a crumpled blue uniform shirt on the floor. “Well, I’m hoping you can help me. You see, Spock isn’t picking up his communicator and Choi’s requesting that he be there to help Prue explain the mechanics of their new transporter to the ‘Fleet egg heads that she’s assembled.” He paused. “Being the astute man that I am, I assumed the reason he wasn’t picking up his communicator was because it was in his pants. And I further deduced that those afore mentioned pants would be on your bedroom floor.”

Kirk blushed and was sure Spock had burrowed even farther under the blankets.

“So,” McCoy went on, “please tell that hobgoblin that he’s needed elsewhere.”

“I’ll be sure to pass the message on,” Kirk replied. “If I see him.” Bones rolled his eyes.

“Something tells me that you’ll see him,” he said, “and probably more of him than anyone else wants to see.” He bounced on his feet, grinning with an irritatingly knowing expression on his face. “See you later, Jim.” He turned to leave, but then called over his shoulder, “Bye Spock!”

Kirk closed the door and then leaned against it, smirking as Spock emerged from the impromptu nest he had made. Kirk began to laugh, the absurdity of the moment finally taking hold.

He had essentially admitted his love for Spock. They’d fucked. And Bones, in that disapproving, teasing way of his, approved. Days ago, Kirk had found himself in a completely different universe. And now, now he was still somewhere different. He was in an area that no one else had been in before. He was in the space designated for Spock’s lovers. It was like a rare flower had opened in his psyche and he’d been able to watch it bloom.

Spock gazed at him with one eyebrow raised as he continued to laugh.

“It’s nothing,” Jim said. “Just get dressed.” His smile refused to abate.

Spock cocked his head, but did as Kirk asked, rising fluidly off the bed. The starlight from the window danced on his skin and something dropped out of the bottom of Kirk’s stomach. His expression softened.

Yet again, James Tiberius Kirk was in love.


End file.
